Awe. (I forget, I forget!)
Pat to the rescue! Uh oh, I’m getting ahead of myself. Stick with me; it’s worth it.
Lately, I’ve been more prone than usual to tumbling into what I characterize as “hole consciousness.”
Hey, Jan, wait a minute. Don’t you mean “whole consciousness?”
Oh gosh, I so wish! No, just how it appears - hole consciousness. Sigh.
What provokes falling into that, um, territory?
Embarrassing to say, but being human.
Human?
Why do you think my Substack is entitled “This Being Human Thing?” It’s a lifelong journey toward making peace with the vulnerable nature of being human (and learning to celebrate it.)
What the heck does that mean?
I try to control everything. If I do this, but that happens, panic! Uh oh, and then WHAT if: a, b, c, or d occur?! Overload! Overload! Oh no, I’m falling, falling, head over heels, into….hole consciousness. (And totally without benefit of Dramamine.)
Then I find myself looking up, trying to find more light from my very circumscribed view, vis-à-vis hole consciousness. Honestly, the air down here tends to be a bit stuffy, really not terribly conducive to breathing easily. (And granted, breathing is a nice thing to do if you’re human.)
Cutting to the chase (thank you!)
How does one climb out of hole consciousness?
Enter my friend Pat. I’ve known Pat for 17-18 years through my Quaker meeting. I know your ears will be burning in just a sec, Pat, but I’m asking you to live with it. Pat is one of the most humble and deeply-souled people I know. He (and his wife) are retired from their long-time professions. Their calling now is working a small farm as a way of feeding others. It appears to agree with them. OK, OK, I’ll stop with my version of “just the facts, ma’am” (or is it “Green Acres?) and head directly to the pay-dirt.
Did I say Pat was humble? Yes, I did. In emails, he speaks from his deeply-sourced heart, all without any punctuation or capitalization. None. My pet theory is that Pat’s connectedness to deep wisdom would only be interrupted by our culture’s practicalities of punctuation and capitalization. Or, whatever. It doesn’t matter because I love the vein of profound perception flowing my way. A missing comma here or there, so what. (My seventh-grade English teacher would, indeed, have had a fit, but we never got along anyway.)
I’m not a seasoned reader of poetry. Perusing Pat’s emails, I generally need to go slowly and let the meaning rise up, just as I do when reading unfamiliar poetry. Then a light goes on. Wow, does it ever go on….And I’m suddenly deep into an “Aha” moment.” Just as I was with the following email:
“we don't often get to choose the path or method to a lesson we need to be on the path and hopefully with gratitude and faith find the awe in the journey”
Awe, I’d completely lost sight of awe. I want my awe back! Who doesn’t want their daily dose of awe? However, reminded by Pat’s email, “to find the awe in the journey,” I realized I hadn’t been looking through my awe prism. (You’ve got one, too, you know.) No conscious discernment of awe going on - at all. Just an everyday kind of peering at life. Now, I’m seeing everyday life, whenever possible, through my awe prism. (And am amazed at how the ordinary can still be so rich in awe.) Thanks, Pat, for your wonderful reminder.
Oh, my, just occurred to me what a great t-shirt “Got Awe?” would make.
Share with others to so they might be filled with heart and humor, too.