As often as I say I believe in the primacy of being over doing, my actions call me out. If a person's Higher Power can be described as whatever she spends most of her time thinking about, relying on, and giving the most energy to, then the name of mine is Getting Things Done.
I was a Lutheran pastor for 37 1/2 years before having a heart attack a little over 3 1/2 years ago. Annually the men had a retreat in Helen, GA. We stayed in cabins outside the city. I would start the retreat by saying that we are on retreat. We are not advancing. We are running the opposite direction. We are leaving behind and not looking back. After that introduction, a man approached me who traveled a great deal and had a large and busy family He asked, "Pastor, would you mind if all I did was sleep and and read in my room all weekend." I was so glad he was comfortable asking. He did as he said. I didn't see him until we left.
I believe a service should be offered where one can come and go as they please (lie down in the pew if you need) and only soft soothing music is playing.
My rare but most effective pastime of healing and wholeness is sitting at a specific point, under the usual tree, on a particular coastal bluff above the sky blue sea with the sound of the pounding surf rising up from below and washing away my tititus, my thoughts of doing and even my thoughts of being.
I am reminded of a handmade sign on my grandmother's porch behind her old wooden rocking chair that said in cross-stitched wisdom, "Sometimes, I sits and thinks. Sometimes, I just sits."
I rarely go to my seaside place of bliss. But, I imagine it often.
When asked why I go there, I usually blame my tinnitus. But, in truth, it is as hard to explain as the joy of writing. But, being there, much like being in the flow state of creativity -- where time passes and bliss overwhelms -- the flow state is slowed to the pulse of the planet as waves pound in and pull out, the breathing of the trees as the wind whispers past, and the other many various nurturings of the seasonal nuances of nature.
It's not so much doing, being or even bliss. I think this "coming down to Earth" is about a subconscious knowing. Knowing you belong. Knowing you are part of this. Knowing, in fullness, that here -- and in truth, everywhere -- you are loved.
Reverie is the gift of old, old age. It's what I had...what gave my heart permission to let my soul free of its cultural confinement. Now, having passed the midpoint of my 9th decade, the cruelty of our present circumstances in this country has made it a rare and sometimes costly affair. How to be both the doer this country needs right now, and the seer, my soul seeks naturally to become?
"It was the sound of human beings stuck in their own purposefulness." Barbara...oh how this resonated! When I was a bit younger (actually already in my fifties), I thought I had ONE purpose to fulfill. This was something taught and highly regarded in my denomination. I worked hard for four years to get my BA in Psychology. Then it was discovered I had a brain tumor. I had brain surgery, which left me unable to walk for three years, unable to see out of my left eye and unable to hear out of my left ear. The fatigue was relentless. What did I do? I completed my Masters using a power chair to get around during residencies and worked my butt off to become a licensed psychotherapist. This worked out until the tumor returned. It took another three years before I got clarity about this "purpose" I thought I had to fulfill. These days finds me staring off across the valley at the Madison mountain range in Montana, imagining Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin, along with Strider and Gandalf, making their way towards the Misty Mountains. No more figuring out what I produced before nodding off to sleep at night. Great essay, Barbara!
Just what I was feeling this morning while sitting on the deck and realizing I was not reading my book, but looking at every plant and marveling at their overnight changes. (Thanks for your inspiration! )
Thank you for this lovely essay and for reviving the word “reverie.” It’s much more poetic and carries less judgement than “daydreaming,” which is how I’ve heard it named most often. I remember when my younger brother was eight years old, his teacher called my mother in to recommend he stay behind in second grade because he was always looking out the window daydreaming. Maybe my mom would have felt less disappointed had she been told he was looking out the window “lost in reverie.” Since he always loved nature, I assume he found things outside more interesting than what was happening inside.
Whether I’m outside or inside, I indulge in the practice of reverie often and find it an effective antidote for the nightmarish scenes being shown on the nightly news. What my mind settles on during these respites of reverie can take many forms, including pleasant memories, the natural world, imaginations, etc. Just yesterday, after finishing Tell Me Everything by Elizabeth Strout, I found myself savoring the personal stories of regular people, their relationships, and how they managed the ups and downs of life, sometimes with great kindness. I agree with Bachelard that there’s some soul stirring going on during these times of not getting things done. Happy reveries, everyone! 😊
Your reflection caused me to ponder the difference between "reverie" and "reveille" - two works that sound so similar, and yet have opposite meanings. Curious. Thank you for your always thoughtful and wise comments.
Exactly, dear Barbara. Exactly what I have been missing these days. Exactly what I want/need to recapture in my sometimes too-busy days. Exactly what my spirit longs for as I plan another project. Exactly.
I was a Lutheran pastor for 37 1/2 years before having a heart attack a little over 3 1/2 years ago. Annually the men had a retreat in Helen, GA. We stayed in cabins outside the city. I would start the retreat by saying that we are on retreat. We are not advancing. We are running the opposite direction. We are leaving behind and not looking back. After that introduction, a man approached me who traveled a great deal and had a large and busy family He asked, "Pastor, would you mind if all I did was sleep and and read in my room all weekend." I was so glad he was comfortable asking. He did as he said. I didn't see him until we left.
I believe a service should be offered where one can come and go as they please (lie down in the pew if you need) and only soft soothing music is playing.
Enjoy your rest
Retired
BOB Mitchell
There are no clocks in the heart. Thank you Barbara Brown Taylor. That is my mantra to be painted on my brain.
My rare but most effective pastime of healing and wholeness is sitting at a specific point, under the usual tree, on a particular coastal bluff above the sky blue sea with the sound of the pounding surf rising up from below and washing away my tititus, my thoughts of doing and even my thoughts of being.
I am reminded of a handmade sign on my grandmother's porch behind her old wooden rocking chair that said in cross-stitched wisdom, "Sometimes, I sits and thinks. Sometimes, I just sits."
I rarely go to my seaside place of bliss. But, I imagine it often.
When asked why I go there, I usually blame my tinnitus. But, in truth, it is as hard to explain as the joy of writing. But, being there, much like being in the flow state of creativity -- where time passes and bliss overwhelms -- the flow state is slowed to the pulse of the planet as waves pound in and pull out, the breathing of the trees as the wind whispers past, and the other many various nurturings of the seasonal nuances of nature.
It's not so much doing, being or even bliss. I think this "coming down to Earth" is about a subconscious knowing. Knowing you belong. Knowing you are part of this. Knowing, in fullness, that here -- and in truth, everywhere -- you are loved.
Reverie is the gift of old, old age. It's what I had...what gave my heart permission to let my soul free of its cultural confinement. Now, having passed the midpoint of my 9th decade, the cruelty of our present circumstances in this country has made it a rare and sometimes costly affair. How to be both the doer this country needs right now, and the seer, my soul seeks naturally to become?
I believe Richard Rohr calls it “the contemplative gaze.” 🙂
Thank you, Barbara. I needed this.
"It was the sound of human beings stuck in their own purposefulness." Barbara...oh how this resonated! When I was a bit younger (actually already in my fifties), I thought I had ONE purpose to fulfill. This was something taught and highly regarded in my denomination. I worked hard for four years to get my BA in Psychology. Then it was discovered I had a brain tumor. I had brain surgery, which left me unable to walk for three years, unable to see out of my left eye and unable to hear out of my left ear. The fatigue was relentless. What did I do? I completed my Masters using a power chair to get around during residencies and worked my butt off to become a licensed psychotherapist. This worked out until the tumor returned. It took another three years before I got clarity about this "purpose" I thought I had to fulfill. These days finds me staring off across the valley at the Madison mountain range in Montana, imagining Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin, along with Strider and Gandalf, making their way towards the Misty Mountains. No more figuring out what I produced before nodding off to sleep at night. Great essay, Barbara!
Just what I was feeling this morning while sitting on the deck and realizing I was not reading my book, but looking at every plant and marveling at their overnight changes. (Thanks for your inspiration! )
You’ve inspired a desire to search for a special place I can go for reverie. Thank you.
Thank you for this lovely essay and for reviving the word “reverie.” It’s much more poetic and carries less judgement than “daydreaming,” which is how I’ve heard it named most often. I remember when my younger brother was eight years old, his teacher called my mother in to recommend he stay behind in second grade because he was always looking out the window daydreaming. Maybe my mom would have felt less disappointed had she been told he was looking out the window “lost in reverie.” Since he always loved nature, I assume he found things outside more interesting than what was happening inside.
Whether I’m outside or inside, I indulge in the practice of reverie often and find it an effective antidote for the nightmarish scenes being shown on the nightly news. What my mind settles on during these respites of reverie can take many forms, including pleasant memories, the natural world, imaginations, etc. Just yesterday, after finishing Tell Me Everything by Elizabeth Strout, I found myself savoring the personal stories of regular people, their relationships, and how they managed the ups and downs of life, sometimes with great kindness. I agree with Bachelard that there’s some soul stirring going on during these times of not getting things done. Happy reveries, everyone! 😊
I will spend the rest of my life wishing that I could write like you do. Phenomenal and meaningful, as always.
That's lovely--thank you, as always, for writing. This, too, is a form of taking truth to power.
What pastime? Watching fireflies come out in the evening...
Lovely. Reverie. Yes.
Your reflection caused me to ponder the difference between "reverie" and "reveille" - two works that sound so similar, and yet have opposite meanings. Curious. Thank you for your always thoughtful and wise comments.
Exactly, dear Barbara. Exactly what I have been missing these days. Exactly what I want/need to recapture in my sometimes too-busy days. Exactly what my spirit longs for as I plan another project. Exactly.