Learn to Float

An allegory:

Many people never learn to float. They never manage to take the initial risk, to do the opposite of what their instincts tell them. They never learn to relax, to let their head be pillowed by the water, to let go, hang loose, float free. Perhaps they simply decide they don’t want to take the risk. They make their choice to be “landlubbers,” and they busy themselves on the shore with all the amusements they can enjoy without getting their feet wet. If they are honest, they occasionally gaze wistfully at the sea and the floaters and think what might have been for them—if only they could take the risk. But if they are foolish, they turn their backs resolutely to the sea and gradually, as the land alone fills their gaze over the years, convince themselves that the sea is a mirage for those foolish enough to look in the opposite direction, that there is no such thing as floating, that the distant voices of the floaters behind them are really no voices at all.

This paragraph is partially taken out of context from Thomas Green’s book, When the Well Runs Dry. Here it forms a wonderful allegory that works on several levels.

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Give Us Words

Lord, give us the Word.

Give us cheering words for the lonely,
Comforting words that bless.
Encouraging words for the hopeless,
Smiling words to bring happiness.

Give us patient words for the struggling,
Courteous words, so that rudeness ends,
Kind words for those who upset us.
Forgiving words for those who offend.

Give us faith-filled words that are postive,
That inspire optimism and zeal.
Teach us “the time to keep silence”
And the “time to speak” and to feel.

May we wait on You
      with prayerful thoughts,
For the wisdom You impart.

Give us acceptable words to express,
The meditations of our hearts.

— Micky Meyer Mathewson

Daylight

To my surprise, and my delight
I saw sunrise, I saw sunlight
I am nothing in the dark
And the clouds burst to show daylight

— Coldplay, lyrics to “Daylight” (via ignispati)

What Are You Leaving Out?

I knew there were many interesting sights, but I didn’t want any more of the little answers, I wanted the big answer. So I asked the guestmaster to show me directly to the House of God.

I sat myself down, quite willing to wait for the big answer. I remained silent all day, far into the night. I looked Him in the eye. I guess He was looking me in the eye. Late, late at night I seemed to hear a voice: “What are you leaving out?” I looked around. I heard it again. “What are you leaving out?” Was it my imagination? Soon it was all around me, whispering, roaring, “What are you leaving out? What are you leaving out?”

Was I cracking up? I managed to get to my feet and head for the door. I wanted the comfort of a human face or a human voice. Nearby was the corridor where some of the monks live. I knocked on one cell.

“What do you want?” came a sleepy voice.

“What am I leaving out?”

“Me,” he answered.

I went to the next door. “What do you want?”

“What am I leaving out?”

“Me.”

A third cell, a fourth, all the same.

I thought, “They’re all stuck on themselves.” I left the building in disgust. Just then the sun was coming up. I had never spoken to the sun before, but I heard myself pleading, “What am I leaving out?”

The sun too answered, “Me.” That finished me.

I threw myself on the ground. And the earth said, “Me too.”

— Jack Kornfield retells a story told by Father Theophane, an old Trappist monk, about the Magic Monastery, where the true gifts of spiritual life can be found. (via Whiskey River)

Which “me” is being left out? Does everything belong in God?