Searching the Dusty Places

         Today I was standing in the checkout line at LifeSource, waiting to purchase my items for lunch. As I have been doing for months, I went through the card catalog in my brain searching for ‘that word.’ I had decided before I went to LifeSource that I would buy lunch and then come back and read the entire O section of the dictionary until I reacquainted myself with ‘that word’ again. Perhaps that was what finally triggered the ‘AHA!!’ moment as the friendly checker asked how my day was going? I was able to say to her ‘I’m extremely pleased right now because I just remembered a word I’ve been looking for for years!’ She gave me a paper and pen to write it down so I wouldn’t forget it again, but she never asked what it was. (I was a little disappointed that I didn’t get to share. )

In 1995, Madeleine L’Engle was the Writer In Residence for Victoria Magazine, to which I subscribed. That year was not a particularly easy one and I was grateful to find wisdom wherever I could, and if it came in a beautiful magazine, more the better. I remember the article well enough that I have looked for it for years; one of those things I should have never thrown away, alas. She wrote of being true to oneself but taking it that further step of actually becoming the entire self to which one would be entirely true. She referred to her book Circle of Life, and the section wherein a burning bush is described:

“The part of us that has to be burned away is something like the deadwood on the bush; it has to go, to be burned in the terrible fire of reality, until there is nothing left but . . . what we are meant to be.”

“Ontology: the word about the essence of things; the word about being.”

And there is ‘that word.’ When I look it up online now, apparently it has taken on a whole different computer-life, but I am referring to the more philosophical (bordering on metaphysical) definition as above. ‘Nothing left but what we are meant to be.’

This weekend, my sister-in-law gave me a remarkable little ring and pendant she made for me –and sometimes timing is surely serendipitous. The pieces are identical. Both are tiny compasses. And they’re not fancy brass or engraved, these are ‘just for fun’ compasses, but you know what? They work. They know True North. They know the way.

Yesterday I was asked if I could be true to two things at a time, one of those being myself and the other being part of a situation that may well burn away the deadwood of my soul. (And the compass needle spun in circles!)

 

Today, I am waiting for the red end of the needle to settle to True North, and to see a pathway through the embers that await me.

 

 I’m not sure I am spirit enough, strong enough, or sure enough to be able to safely navigate my way through without some pretty significant scorching, but if I start, there is no going back. As I contemplate this, the ‘zing’ of electrical shock goes through my arms and legs and makes my heart pound so hard I can hear it – stress zingers, born of fear.

 I am blessed to be tested.

 And believe that after the fire there is regrowth; after time, after healing, the flowers of the forest come to life and beauty once again. Ponderosa pinecones cannot release their seeds without going through a fire. I have my compasses to remind me of finding the way to my ontological being: the ‘who’ that is the credible one, borne of walking the way.

I found ‘that word’ again. It has haunted me and tickled the edges of my memory for years, elusively floating just beyond grasp. Why did I receive the compasses and why did I find ‘that word’ when I’ve been presented with another avenue of growth that asks almost more than I have to give? Sometimes timing is surely serendipitous~