Rhythm, or out of rhythm rather, is how I feel most days lately.
I am among change and transition. My thoughts linger between what has been and what will come. Some days I hardly feel like I am present to the moments that surround me. I am here but I am more elsewhere.
I like change...mostly. Change brings about new sight, seeing things and places with fresh eyes. Change is also exhausting. Learning where things go, how things work and how you fit.
I find more pain in transition than in change, though. Transition begs for time to process. Transition requires you to sit among the things you've learned and unlearned in a time frame and to think about how this pushes you onto the next thing. Transition asks me to be aware of how I have been and who I want to carry with me to the next place. Transition is the mental process of the action of change for me.
Not so long from now I will finish a master's degree in social work. I will tie up my time working at my current job and I will move to a new city. Each of these things would be important in my life just as they are but combined they are a little like a thunderstorm.
I have many favorite parts of Alabama but a special one for me is driving down a back road with the windows down with no music.
I like to hear the wind, not just feel it,
to pay attention to the trees and tiny flowers next to the road,
to follow the yellow lines and the curve of the road,
to notice the cows and horses.
As I was driving today down one of those roads, I noticed stretch of woods. Normally in Alabama you can't quite see through the woods on the side of the road because there is so much other growth around. But this particular stretch had just the right amount of openness. I think they were pine trees so they were tall and skinny and the sun was perfectly shining through. All I wanted to do was walk in those woods, to be among them and for a minute forget all the things going on in my head.
Tonight I found this:
I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.
Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.
Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.
After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.
-Wendell Berry, This Day: Collected and New Sabbath Poems
And even though I did not stop, I know I can find quiet among the trees and I can embrace all that comes with this season. Sometimes the trees are all around me and I haven't noticed. For what's left of this season I want to turn the music down and notice each thing. I want to be present to these days for they, too, are part of my song.
I am among change and transition. My thoughts linger between what has been and what will come. Some days I hardly feel like I am present to the moments that surround me. I am here but I am more elsewhere.
I like change...mostly. Change brings about new sight, seeing things and places with fresh eyes. Change is also exhausting. Learning where things go, how things work and how you fit.
I find more pain in transition than in change, though. Transition begs for time to process. Transition requires you to sit among the things you've learned and unlearned in a time frame and to think about how this pushes you onto the next thing. Transition asks me to be aware of how I have been and who I want to carry with me to the next place. Transition is the mental process of the action of change for me.
Not so long from now I will finish a master's degree in social work. I will tie up my time working at my current job and I will move to a new city. Each of these things would be important in my life just as they are but combined they are a little like a thunderstorm.
I have many favorite parts of Alabama but a special one for me is driving down a back road with the windows down with no music.
I like to hear the wind, not just feel it,
to pay attention to the trees and tiny flowers next to the road,
to follow the yellow lines and the curve of the road,
to notice the cows and horses.
As I was driving today down one of those roads, I noticed stretch of woods. Normally in Alabama you can't quite see through the woods on the side of the road because there is so much other growth around. But this particular stretch had just the right amount of openness. I think they were pine trees so they were tall and skinny and the sun was perfectly shining through. All I wanted to do was walk in those woods, to be among them and for a minute forget all the things going on in my head.
Tonight I found this:
I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.
Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings, and I hear its song.
Then what I am afraid of comes.
I live for a while in its sight.
What I fear in it leaves it,
and the fear of it leaves me.
It sings, and I hear its song.
After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.
-Wendell Berry, This Day: Collected and New Sabbath Poems
And even though I did not stop, I know I can find quiet among the trees and I can embrace all that comes with this season. Sometimes the trees are all around me and I haven't noticed. For what's left of this season I want to turn the music down and notice each thing. I want to be present to these days for they, too, are part of my song.
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