The quest for certainty blocks the quest for meaning. (Fromm)
A jumble of thoughts float about haphazardly in my head, with no consideration for meaning, importance, anything. But I am committed to this process for this Season of Advent — for a reason I have yet to name, for readers with whom I feel out of touch (if they’re even out there), for — what? It has been two years since I last wrote in these pages, although I have filled reams of pages in my private journals. Do I have anything at all to say to anyone else, or is this process important only for me? And if so, why? What? And if these questions are all I’ve got goin’ for me, and for you the reader, I might as well stop right now.
The lights of the Christmas tree seem rather sparse and stingy to me this morning, with little magic. A couple of wrapped boxes lie under the tree, seemingly offering promise, but they are empty. Sort of like me. I had resolved to put together a book of daily meditations this year, offering some thoughts and reflections that had taken me further down the road on my own inner journey. And here it is, already December, and no book. But there are thousands, maybe millions of these reflections already out there — does the world really need another? Do I need to do this?
I doubt any readers will be affected long term by anything I have to say. For instance, this morning in my private journaling, I was whining to myself about space, not having the “perfect” chair in which to create a nest, I had gone on yet another quest this week to find one, visiting several furniture stores, and finally finding just one that just might have been The One, but alas, it had been discontinued, and the floor model had upholstery that my cats would have shredded in less time than it would take for them to say, “give me more Friskies”. So I am still only Perching, not snuggled into the perfect chair-nest of my imaginings, one that will serve my aging body’s ever-changing and crankily demanding needs.
How does Perching serve me, I wonder, since I seem unable to get away from having to do it? It keeps me from getting too comfortable, I guess, and immediately I am reminded of the idea that there are some angels whose only function is to make sure you don’t get too comfortable and fall asleep and miss your life. Humph. Today I will continue my quest. I am tired of making do, I WANT the perfect chair. If not now, when??
So, dear Reader, you choose. Has it really been worth it to read these few lines? Was it a complete waste of time? Rather than complaining about my inability to find a suitable chair for an aging body, I could have whined about the “interesting” experience of living with an aging spouse, or the existential horrors of a world situation none of us seem able to fathom or comprehend, or how all my older friends seem a little lost and wandering. . .
But for today, I will Perch, and distract myself with a search — everything serves a purpose.
