I have had this idea floating around in my head for the past three days to write something about failure. Three times I started to blog and three times I failed as I got half way into it and stopped and deleted it.
I was thinking about the idea of failure and how to work through my thoughts this morning as I was making my coffee and I thought about President Obamas phrase that because of the failures of our economy and many of the issues that our country faces we have a historic opportunity. I let that phrase roll around in my mind.
These past couple of months I have witnessed how the people around me deal with the failure or the fear of failure. In my own family failure has been the driving force. In November my father's older brother died after his body failed to fight off a cancer. My uncle lived a wild life and at the end spent his last days trying to confess the failures of his life so that he could get himself right with God. In December my father fell of a ladder in his garage when a pile of lumber fell on him. He spent about 4 days in the hospital with broken bones and a fractured skull. His memory which was already a little shakey, took a "beating" as well. I witnessed as he failed to remember the details of the accident, his time in the hospital, and watched as he struggled to recover. As each doctor came into the hospital room to ask him what happened he kept saying that he failed to get out of the way of the falling boards. This past Monday my mother's older sister began the final process of dying. The doctors were failing to stop the process that began suddenly 2 weeks ago when she was admitted to the hospital. This weekend she died.
If I look at these past months from the point of failure I have witnessed the failing health of relatives and the medical communities response. But looking at the same events from a different vantage point I have found that my brother and my sisters have talked more in the past three months than we have in years. I've made a conscious effort to stay more in touch with my parents. Family through these failures have become more important to me. This is an opportunity to reconnect to people who I had taken for granted that would always be there and would always be able to take care of themselves.
This economy continues to falter. We see the ripples of that through every part of our community. In order to continue to operate difficult choices have to be made. Yet I find something positive in returning to find our what's really important and how to make that the focus.
I just held auditions last week and there were almost 70 people cast out of 150 who auditioned. For some they had exhilaration as were cast in a show for the first time or got the part that they were striving for. For others their disappointments were overwhelming. They felt hurt and angry at the their failure to get cast. Some who had never experienced not being cast felt their disappointment the most. Others accepted their disappointments and offered to get involved in other ways with the shows. Some will come overcome that disappointment and others will not.
Each time we select a season of plays I fear failure. It doesn't matter that I've helped produce over 400 plays at the theatre since I came to work there. In the back of my mind is always the question- Will this show be the one that fails? That sense of being a fraud, that I've only been lucky up to this point because I really don't know what I'm doing and I have to work that much harder to make sure that I don't fail runs rampant through myself and some of the most successful people I know. When we do a Beauty and the Beast, High School Musical, or Wizard of Oz it's like throwing a ball higher and higher in the air and trying to hit it. Each show presents a bigger risk of failure. Yet each show presents an opportunity to for me to grow as an artist.
Each failure or risk of failure is a challenge to us to grow. I'm reminded often of Joseph Campbell and the hero's journey. The person gets the call and sets out on a journey. At some point he will be tested. In this test he will have to journey down inside himself. He will have to fail to protect himself. In a sense the person who he was dies and for a period of time he is lost. But then he finds new strengths and is helped by the presence of a spirit or God to come back up out of the ground with a new understanding. He is resurrected. It is his journey to bring this new wisdom back to others to share. In the hero's journey he shares this until he gets the next call. For me that is the risk of failure and the opportunities it presents.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Stop Drop and Roll
When I arrived home last night from work at about 8pm my wife and daughter were cuddled up asleep under a blanket watching television. I spoke to them for a few minutes and then heard a strange noise. I walked into the kitchen to investigate and found our yellow lab on her hind legs happily eating the blueberry muffins that were baked a couple of hours earlier out of the baking tray sitting on our stove. Then I followed a trail of chewed and ripped paper towel and toilet paper all the way down to the dogs crate. Apparently she had gotten bored and decided to go in search of something she could chew on. A swirl of anger and frustration only grew as I discovered more and more of Goldies adventures. I opened the back door and let the dog out in our invisible fenced yard so that I could clean up the mess without the dog trying to "help". It also gave me a chance to lower my blood pressure.
I find that phrase "lowering my blood pressure" to be more valuable the older I get. I don't suffer thankfully from high blood pressure which seems to run in my family. But I can feel myself at times of stress with this feeling, like steam, rising inside of me and going to my head making it feel like a pressure on my brain. At those times I can't help but think of that old fire prevention saying- stop, drop and roll. I try to stop. Drop the feelings that are building and take a walk.
The other night as I talked with family about how my father is doing after his accident we talked about the depression that he is experiencing. I discovered something about myself. I don't know if this is what makes me a better "theatre" person or not. I have a very strong ability to feel the emotions of others. To put myself in their position and see life through their eyes, to feel many of the same feelings that they are. I will confess that lots of movies make me tear up. Hearing a very emotional song can have the same effect. Watching someone else or reading about someone else or even imagining a situation can deeply affect me physically. My chest gets tight. That lump in the throat becomes very real. I can access deep emotional feelings connected to the pain or joy of others. When it comes to my own feelings however those tend to be much harder to access. I don't think I have the John Wayne syndrome that I grew up with. But I do find that when I face deep problems I go into a problem solving mode. What needs to be done. What are all the possible issues that will affect the decisions that need to be made. My brain locks into "solve the problem."
As I age I find myself like many others moving into a new place in life. In the past couple of months my family has dealt with the loss or impending loss of relatives. We have dealt with aging and disease issues. I don't know how I feel about all this but I certainly am aware of how others feel. At times I think it is a gift to be able to experience how other people feel and translate that into a plays characters or my writing. At other times I need to stop, drop, and roll. Or as my friend Jody likes to remind me- breathe, just breathe.
I find that phrase "lowering my blood pressure" to be more valuable the older I get. I don't suffer thankfully from high blood pressure which seems to run in my family. But I can feel myself at times of stress with this feeling, like steam, rising inside of me and going to my head making it feel like a pressure on my brain. At those times I can't help but think of that old fire prevention saying- stop, drop and roll. I try to stop. Drop the feelings that are building and take a walk.
The other night as I talked with family about how my father is doing after his accident we talked about the depression that he is experiencing. I discovered something about myself. I don't know if this is what makes me a better "theatre" person or not. I have a very strong ability to feel the emotions of others. To put myself in their position and see life through their eyes, to feel many of the same feelings that they are. I will confess that lots of movies make me tear up. Hearing a very emotional song can have the same effect. Watching someone else or reading about someone else or even imagining a situation can deeply affect me physically. My chest gets tight. That lump in the throat becomes very real. I can access deep emotional feelings connected to the pain or joy of others. When it comes to my own feelings however those tend to be much harder to access. I don't think I have the John Wayne syndrome that I grew up with. But I do find that when I face deep problems I go into a problem solving mode. What needs to be done. What are all the possible issues that will affect the decisions that need to be made. My brain locks into "solve the problem."
As I age I find myself like many others moving into a new place in life. In the past couple of months my family has dealt with the loss or impending loss of relatives. We have dealt with aging and disease issues. I don't know how I feel about all this but I certainly am aware of how others feel. At times I think it is a gift to be able to experience how other people feel and translate that into a plays characters or my writing. At other times I need to stop, drop, and roll. Or as my friend Jody likes to remind me- breathe, just breathe.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Middle of the story
As is the always case, it seems I start watching films from somewhere in the middle. I flip on the television and the movie is in progress. The characters are always in the middle of some discovery. This particular film showed a man as he struggled with his identity independent of this family and at the same time formed by that same family. After the movie ended I flipped to a news channel to see what was happening in the world. The news was filled with the stories of a man about to be sworn in as President. Other stories were reported about the plane crash and its survivors. Still more stories about the war in the middle east.
We live our lives in the middle of stories. As I walked through the hospital yesterday we walked by the place where newborns are behind the glass so visitors can see them. These children are at the very beginning of their own lives but they too are in the midst of a story of a family. On another floor I stepped into a hallway where a young woman came out of room in great distress talking on the cell phone that they were disconnecting the machines from her loved one. We went to the children’s area saw young children in hospital beds with family gathered around. I was in the midst of all of the stories. I couldn’t help but think that we never get to see the beginning of a story.
My daughter asked me about what I was doing before I married her mother. I told her the stories of living in Kansas City working professionally, I told her the stories of Graduate School in Alabama, I told her the stories of being an undergraduate in Wisconsin. These stories define who I am. I couldn’t help but wonder if a small change here or there in life would have led me to this same present place? This brief moment in time? In the movie story we see a father, a mother, and a son who are all struggling with the choices they are making. During a moment from the movie a friend gives advice to the mother from a Joseph Campbell book. “When you feel the most lost, close your eyes and remember when you felt the happiest. Not the most ecstatic, just the most happiest. That is your bliss. That is the path to follow to find your way again. Follow your bliss.” I had always thought of that idea of bliss as finding the ecstatic highs in life. It struck me that maybe bliss was something different than I had originally thought.
At the end of the movie the son finds a book with an inscription to him from his recently deceased father on the day of his graduation from high school. The young man’s name came from the story contained in the book that defined who his father was and even who the young man had become. The mother simply states “there are no accidents” you were always meant to find this. At that moment he embraces his father’s gift.
As I contemplate the middle of my own story I can’t help but think of myself in relation to the other stories that I am a part of. In many ways I do feel that there are no accidents in life. There are mistakes, but we need to make those mistakes to guide us on to the next chapter in our story. I’ve had times myself when I was stuck in a chapter and couldn’t seem to turn the page.
When I close my eyes and think of happiness with these thoughts it isn’t the extremely high points of the story so far that come to mind. It surprises me that it is a much quieter sense of happiness that comes to mind. A larger story unfolds. I also feel extremely grateful that I have the opportunity to tell stories for a living. We are always in the middle of a story aren’t we?
We live our lives in the middle of stories. As I walked through the hospital yesterday we walked by the place where newborns are behind the glass so visitors can see them. These children are at the very beginning of their own lives but they too are in the midst of a story of a family. On another floor I stepped into a hallway where a young woman came out of room in great distress talking on the cell phone that they were disconnecting the machines from her loved one. We went to the children’s area saw young children in hospital beds with family gathered around. I was in the midst of all of the stories. I couldn’t help but think that we never get to see the beginning of a story.
My daughter asked me about what I was doing before I married her mother. I told her the stories of living in Kansas City working professionally, I told her the stories of Graduate School in Alabama, I told her the stories of being an undergraduate in Wisconsin. These stories define who I am. I couldn’t help but wonder if a small change here or there in life would have led me to this same present place? This brief moment in time? In the movie story we see a father, a mother, and a son who are all struggling with the choices they are making. During a moment from the movie a friend gives advice to the mother from a Joseph Campbell book. “When you feel the most lost, close your eyes and remember when you felt the happiest. Not the most ecstatic, just the most happiest. That is your bliss. That is the path to follow to find your way again. Follow your bliss.” I had always thought of that idea of bliss as finding the ecstatic highs in life. It struck me that maybe bliss was something different than I had originally thought.
At the end of the movie the son finds a book with an inscription to him from his recently deceased father on the day of his graduation from high school. The young man’s name came from the story contained in the book that defined who his father was and even who the young man had become. The mother simply states “there are no accidents” you were always meant to find this. At that moment he embraces his father’s gift.
As I contemplate the middle of my own story I can’t help but think of myself in relation to the other stories that I am a part of. In many ways I do feel that there are no accidents in life. There are mistakes, but we need to make those mistakes to guide us on to the next chapter in our story. I’ve had times myself when I was stuck in a chapter and couldn’t seem to turn the page.
When I close my eyes and think of happiness with these thoughts it isn’t the extremely high points of the story so far that come to mind. It surprises me that it is a much quieter sense of happiness that comes to mind. A larger story unfolds. I also feel extremely grateful that I have the opportunity to tell stories for a living. We are always in the middle of a story aren’t we?
time slipping away
I have been running since Monday and haven't stopped yet. I intended to write 2-3 times a week on this blog but with weeks like this suddenly its late Friday night and the last time I posted was 4-5 days ago.
In the creative process, for me, it is usually best to brainstorm all the possibilities and then let them simmer for a little. It reminds me a pot of water on the stove. Ideas start small like tiny bubbles appearing at the bottom of the pot. Slowly they build until they bubble up to the surface and then reform. Lots of energy dissipates as the options reach the surface. When I was younger, as all the ideas and thoughts reached the "surface of the pot" I would easily turn that energy into action. But lately it seems the pot has to simmer longer in order to find the right answers.
I once had an artistic director tell an entire company that we were only putting on plays. We weren't curing cancer. People didn't die if we made mistakes. I thought that was a good way of looking at things. Unfortunately 2 weeks later that same Artistic Director fired the entire company instead of admitting his mistakes in budgeting and expenses for a show.
I have found that my best decisions are made when I let that "pot" simmer for a while before trying to make a decision. This isn't easy because lots of people are pushing me to make that decision and the clock is ticking with every moment. A former TD used to tell me that there were two ways of building sets. The fast way which is very expensive or the slow way which is much more cost effective but has to have the time to work out alternate solutions to the expensive problems.
Every time I rush into a decision I miss something else and then have to work twice as hard and spend twice as much to fix the problem.
I've rubbed my head so many times trying to work through a problem that it is now a signature gesture I make when problems arise and solutions have to arrived at in a short time frame. Those who know me as soon as they see me rub my head say "Michael is stressed". This week I've rubbed what little hair I had left on my head off.
In the creative process, for me, it is usually best to brainstorm all the possibilities and then let them simmer for a little. It reminds me a pot of water on the stove. Ideas start small like tiny bubbles appearing at the bottom of the pot. Slowly they build until they bubble up to the surface and then reform. Lots of energy dissipates as the options reach the surface. When I was younger, as all the ideas and thoughts reached the "surface of the pot" I would easily turn that energy into action. But lately it seems the pot has to simmer longer in order to find the right answers.
I once had an artistic director tell an entire company that we were only putting on plays. We weren't curing cancer. People didn't die if we made mistakes. I thought that was a good way of looking at things. Unfortunately 2 weeks later that same Artistic Director fired the entire company instead of admitting his mistakes in budgeting and expenses for a show.
I have found that my best decisions are made when I let that "pot" simmer for a while before trying to make a decision. This isn't easy because lots of people are pushing me to make that decision and the clock is ticking with every moment. A former TD used to tell me that there were two ways of building sets. The fast way which is very expensive or the slow way which is much more cost effective but has to have the time to work out alternate solutions to the expensive problems.
Every time I rush into a decision I miss something else and then have to work twice as hard and spend twice as much to fix the problem.
I've rubbed my head so many times trying to work through a problem that it is now a signature gesture I make when problems arise and solutions have to arrived at in a short time frame. Those who know me as soon as they see me rub my head say "Michael is stressed". This week I've rubbed what little hair I had left on my head off.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Dog Dreams
I journal in the morning when I first wake up. I sit down with my cup of coffee and commit myself to writing 3 pages hand written. As my mind is still blurry from sleep I always begin with what I dreamed last night. Over the years I've taught myself to remember my dreams and they usually give me some insight into what is going on with my life below the surface. I once read a quote from Jung that made the statement that of all things that your mind could conjure up at night it is usually not a result of random thoughts conjured up by the dinner that I ate the night before. Images and symbols come to be because they represent something my subconscious is processing on a deeper level.
For as many years as I can remember the majority of my dreams are always about traveling. Being on a journey to get some place. I never get there in my dreams. There are always lots of obstacles that I must confront during the journey and I always wake up before I reach my destination. It is these obstacles that give me insight into what I'm worried or angry or upset about. I can't begin to count the number of dreams in which I was renovating or rebuilding the Market House Theatre. Those dreams are pretty obvious. In my dreams I look for meaning and symbols. The more bizarre the symbol the better. I always remember the quote though that "sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."
As I was sitting reading the script for the Wizard of Oz preparing for auditions the family dog was laying on the carpet next to me by the fire. Goldie was dreaming of something. Chasing an animal or running and leaping. Her little barks and paws moving in her sleep. I wonder if she is dreams of being on a journey. Head hanging out the window of a car. The wind in her face. Her tongue flapping in the breeze. Trying to get someplace but never quite getting there.
I wonder if some nights we could trade dreams. I wouldn't mind chasing squirrels and running through the woods. I'll let her rebuild the theatre while I run and play for a change. Who knows maybe I'll finally reach a destination?
For as many years as I can remember the majority of my dreams are always about traveling. Being on a journey to get some place. I never get there in my dreams. There are always lots of obstacles that I must confront during the journey and I always wake up before I reach my destination. It is these obstacles that give me insight into what I'm worried or angry or upset about. I can't begin to count the number of dreams in which I was renovating or rebuilding the Market House Theatre. Those dreams are pretty obvious. In my dreams I look for meaning and symbols. The more bizarre the symbol the better. I always remember the quote though that "sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."
As I was sitting reading the script for the Wizard of Oz preparing for auditions the family dog was laying on the carpet next to me by the fire. Goldie was dreaming of something. Chasing an animal or running and leaping. Her little barks and paws moving in her sleep. I wonder if she is dreams of being on a journey. Head hanging out the window of a car. The wind in her face. Her tongue flapping in the breeze. Trying to get someplace but never quite getting there.
I wonder if some nights we could trade dreams. I wouldn't mind chasing squirrels and running through the woods. I'll let her rebuild the theatre while I run and play for a change. Who knows maybe I'll finally reach a destination?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Winter
Winter does something to me. It always challenges me. I went out into the back yard the other night to let me dog out. Goldie refuses to do her business unless I’m standing in the back yard within about 20 feet of her. As I stood there I looked at a large tree in my back yard that was completely bare of leaves. It had a shape against the sky that called to my mind those ancient trees that have stood for centuries. The silhouette was not nicely rounded into a pleasing shape but filled with branches that were bent and angled and even curled back on themselves into large joints. Like an ancient witches fingers. The kind of limbs that artists love to draw. It reminded me of an old movie that I liked in college called Cat People about an ancient African tree and its mystical power. Behind the tree the sky was filled with large clouds rushing by over head. The wind wasn’t very strong on the ground where I was standing but overhead the clouds were moving in a urgent flight.
I wished that I could draw a picture of this tree at night or take a photo or a video of this scene. The clouds were rushing off either to face something in the east or fleeing from something in the west the way animals flee from a forest fire. It felt like there was a war about to begin and that the forces from one side were rushing to the front while others were fleeing from the coming battle. It is hard not to be swept one way or the other.
There are a dozen projects that I’m working on at the present and sometimes it feels like those clouds. Everyone is giving advice, pushing me in one direction or another. I’m being tossed about by business planning models and artistic statements of truth. Each time in the past I’ve been able to overcome the challenges through hard work and perseverance. Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the goals. It seems harder with each passing year to resist the forces pushing from all sides and stay focused. The winds wanting to rush to the front for the battle. Wanting to win the battle and declare victory. But there never seems to be any victory. Just a brief rest before the next battle. I’ve always told myself if I can just get through this, then everything will be okay. Peace will finally come. But peace has been elusive. Accomplish one goal and a dozen more line up to take its place.
I’m reminded of the old farmer who plows the field in the midst of a war raging all around him. He has seeds to sow and planting that needs to be accomplished. Wars will continue to come and go. Battles will be fought on all sides of him. He no longer runs off to battle with each new threat. He continues to the till the ground. To prepare the earth for something new to grow. When he was young he dropped everything and ran to the front with the others. He has known intense love and honor and glory. But those things don't last long, they come and go on the currents of the wind.
Only one thing is certain. Winter will come again next year and the field will need to be prepared for growth. No matter how big his harvest at the end of the previous year, Winter will come again.
That is where I find myself after so many years. In the midst of winter preparing to till the ground for another year.
I wished that I could draw a picture of this tree at night or take a photo or a video of this scene. The clouds were rushing off either to face something in the east or fleeing from something in the west the way animals flee from a forest fire. It felt like there was a war about to begin and that the forces from one side were rushing to the front while others were fleeing from the coming battle. It is hard not to be swept one way or the other.
There are a dozen projects that I’m working on at the present and sometimes it feels like those clouds. Everyone is giving advice, pushing me in one direction or another. I’m being tossed about by business planning models and artistic statements of truth. Each time in the past I’ve been able to overcome the challenges through hard work and perseverance. Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the goals. It seems harder with each passing year to resist the forces pushing from all sides and stay focused. The winds wanting to rush to the front for the battle. Wanting to win the battle and declare victory. But there never seems to be any victory. Just a brief rest before the next battle. I’ve always told myself if I can just get through this, then everything will be okay. Peace will finally come. But peace has been elusive. Accomplish one goal and a dozen more line up to take its place.
I’m reminded of the old farmer who plows the field in the midst of a war raging all around him. He has seeds to sow and planting that needs to be accomplished. Wars will continue to come and go. Battles will be fought on all sides of him. He no longer runs off to battle with each new threat. He continues to the till the ground. To prepare the earth for something new to grow. When he was young he dropped everything and ran to the front with the others. He has known intense love and honor and glory. But those things don't last long, they come and go on the currents of the wind.
Only one thing is certain. Winter will come again next year and the field will need to be prepared for growth. No matter how big his harvest at the end of the previous year, Winter will come again.
That is where I find myself after so many years. In the midst of winter preparing to till the ground for another year.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Mystical Moments
As I was sitting in my EFM class today the discussion was about mystics. Burning bushes and other events that happen to declare the presence of God to human beings. The question was asked by the moderator of the group if such an event could happen today. People claim to see the face of Jesus or the Virgin Mary in a biscuit or a water stain on a wall. I remember a story about a man who purchased a potato chip for hundreds of dollars because it had the image of Jesus in it.
Some people can only see God if it shows up and smacks them in the face and they can show it to others to prove it. Some people I believe truly do have an experience of the mystical out of the blue where the presence of God is flash of light or a sudden appearance of an image that is suddenly life changing but they keep it to themselves because they can’t explain it.
I must confess that I’ve never had an experience like this. But I have had mystical experiences.
There are times in life when a greater truth becomes suddenly clear. It’s almost as if you have a moment where you see life as a whole instead from our narrow vantage points. A profound truth becomes apparent. Sometimes it’s only a moment of seeing life clearly without all the thoughts pushing your mind. It happens for just a moment and then fades. If you are like me it is really hard to hang on to that moment. The everyday world seems to come rushing back with all of its distractions and noises and within a day or so I’ve forgotten all about that moment. Except that it happened. Some people are able to find these mystical moments through meditation. Some people are able to experience this through prayer. For me I find it when I listen to the silence. This was a term I learned a few years ago. Like the air that we breathe that goes in and out of us unseen and sustains our lives. We move through the air and it fills the spaces all around us. Silence does this for me. This is not space empty of or devoid of sound, but a silence that has its own fullness. The everyday sounds of life layer on top of this silence. I like to think of this silence as the place where God speaks. It is not filled with words or noises but with clarity. This is how I pray. Not with words formed in my mind but with a quiet that listens.
I try to hang onto moments from the holidays which I remember that silence. Moments spent alone in the hospital room with my father in the middle of the night as the snow fell silently outside and he struggled with his injuries and between the present and the past in his memory. The door to the room was closed and the hospital sounds in the hallway were quiet. Even the ventilation system was quiet. I heard the silence. I try to hang on to moments with my daughter as we trekked through over 2 feet of snow in the totally silent farm fields in the country on a winters day walk. The only sound was the snow crunching under my feet as my daughter tried to follow in my footsteps. I finally stopped to carry her on my back through an especially high drift. We stopped for a moment and looked at the horizon across acres of snow white farm fields that seemed to stretch forever. I listened to the silence. After a few moments we continued our trek. I knew I had just listened to God.
Those are my mystical moments.
Some people can only see God if it shows up and smacks them in the face and they can show it to others to prove it. Some people I believe truly do have an experience of the mystical out of the blue where the presence of God is flash of light or a sudden appearance of an image that is suddenly life changing but they keep it to themselves because they can’t explain it.
I must confess that I’ve never had an experience like this. But I have had mystical experiences.
There are times in life when a greater truth becomes suddenly clear. It’s almost as if you have a moment where you see life as a whole instead from our narrow vantage points. A profound truth becomes apparent. Sometimes it’s only a moment of seeing life clearly without all the thoughts pushing your mind. It happens for just a moment and then fades. If you are like me it is really hard to hang on to that moment. The everyday world seems to come rushing back with all of its distractions and noises and within a day or so I’ve forgotten all about that moment. Except that it happened. Some people are able to find these mystical moments through meditation. Some people are able to experience this through prayer. For me I find it when I listen to the silence. This was a term I learned a few years ago. Like the air that we breathe that goes in and out of us unseen and sustains our lives. We move through the air and it fills the spaces all around us. Silence does this for me. This is not space empty of or devoid of sound, but a silence that has its own fullness. The everyday sounds of life layer on top of this silence. I like to think of this silence as the place where God speaks. It is not filled with words or noises but with clarity. This is how I pray. Not with words formed in my mind but with a quiet that listens.
I try to hang onto moments from the holidays which I remember that silence. Moments spent alone in the hospital room with my father in the middle of the night as the snow fell silently outside and he struggled with his injuries and between the present and the past in his memory. The door to the room was closed and the hospital sounds in the hallway were quiet. Even the ventilation system was quiet. I heard the silence. I try to hang on to moments with my daughter as we trekked through over 2 feet of snow in the totally silent farm fields in the country on a winters day walk. The only sound was the snow crunching under my feet as my daughter tried to follow in my footsteps. I finally stopped to carry her on my back through an especially high drift. We stopped for a moment and looked at the horizon across acres of snow white farm fields that seemed to stretch forever. I listened to the silence. After a few moments we continued our trek. I knew I had just listened to God.
Those are my mystical moments.
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