“He makes me to lie down in green pastures; he leads me besides the still waters….”
Have you been searching for that place too? That metaphorical place where, in the middle of another crushing day, you can find a safe and silent sanctum? Somewhere you might get off the careening carousel just long enough to catch your breath…your sanity…your soul?
Oh, it’s there! Only you may be looking for it in the wrong way. As you’ve suspected by now, it’s not really a place. Rather, a state of mind. A sliver of time in the great continuum which, like some fragile mountain crevice, briefly offers your ascent a more secure footing. If you can spot it, if you can reach it, if you can somehow wrap what’s left of your courage around it, then maybe you can get through the rest of this day.
Shamans conjure it. Mystics think it. Saints pray it. You and I, well, the best we mere mortals can do is believe it. Believe there are such green pastures along this climb. Climb…? Yes, and it starts the moment the surgeon slaps our little soft buttock compelling us to begin it. Make no mistake, the climb starts as a yelp for life and will now persist until a final sigh for peace. For we, the children of of Eve, there is no other way.
However, if life is struggle, climbers throughout history have had their say as to what it all means. Priests and priestesses, theologians and philosophers, poets and warriors have each in their time shouted down from their climb what it means. Leaving each of us to believe and follow as we see fit. Of all the options we’ve heard, the vision of those quiet green pastures seems the most enduring.
I for one know they exist. For I have walked them. But only briefly. Only temporarily. Only in those rare instances when they smell so green and fragrant and safe; then all too quickly disappear before my very eyes. All I can do, like you, is keep trying to find them again…..
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