Canyons and Chasms: Facing the Unknown

As I gazed out of my trapezoid casement windows, I noticed a tiny red-throated finch sitting alone in the laurel tree. It flitted from branch to branch struggling to master the art of flying. I judged the bird; after all, birds are innate flyers my mind mocked. It flapped and flailed from the windowsill to the branch, to a leaf and back to the windowsill. It came to the highest eave, fluffed its plumage, and burrowed its head to rest.

This beautiful creature reminded me of an important spiritual bridge: embracing the unknown. When the finch rose this morning, it did not know whether or not it would return to the nest a successful flyer. It did not know whether it would taste the air of freedom or remain a prisoner to its current predicament. All it knew was its present moment.

We are all consumed with moments of unknowing. Intrinsically hidden and tucked out of sight, at the base of the unknown, is fear. For our finch, we imagine the fears it may feel. Perhaps it is a fear of falling, of being damaged, or even of not knowing where to go should it succeed.

Life’s journeys are demanding. As humans striving for acceptance and love, we place additional pressures upon ourselves to perform better and stronger than ever before. We push ourselves to cross into the unknown before we even have a chance to slow down and explore what that unknown is. We leap into chasms and canyons without bottom and are filled with dread when we realize how deep we are in.

As I ponder this, a gentle peck upon the window pulls me back into the present. I smile and realize that even from our chasms, when faith is hanging dangerously by a thread, the Creator is always present. It is in these tiny moments where cultivating gratefulness triggers a spark of hope. Like the path the finch traverses, crossing those unknown paths means simply reaffirming our faith in that spiritual Source which is greater than ourselves.

DNKG Unknown © 2014

Mind Games: Getting in the way of the process

At my laptop, I watch the cursor blink. I sense its mockery as I search in vain for something that will stir the heart. It seems to already hold the secret prose to which hasn’t even been created. It stares at me from that blank page, reading me better than any friend I have ever had. It sees me writhe in pain as I wait for that light bulb moment to satisfy me, for that flicker of wisdom to spill out on to the page with unbridled fury. It sees my desperation to keep that internal fire from being extinguished.

I punch the letters on a laptop and a code of black and white are set into motion. Perhaps my indiscriminate tapping will make magic, I jest to myself. A cacophony of keyboard clicks resonates off the walls, growing louder and louder. Push, go, propel forward so that the core is constantly churning. I feel it, like a symphony coming to its coda after its final aria. PAUSE.

I glance down to reveal the masterpiece: a blank page of spaces.

And yet I sat in silence, in a wildfire that was all consuming. I find myself at ease with the profound realization that my cursor has gifted me. I embrace the moment where there is nothing. When I am frozen. A time of ease and no worries. A time without retort or argument. A time without suspicion or judgment. A period of not knowing where I am headed, where that path might take me, or even if it that path was “right” or "wrong." It felt right, “right now.” 

There is something beautiful about a white canvas with a story yet to be told.

DNKG
 © Mind Games: 2014