Becoming a Student of the World 5-19-10

Deep Gap, North Carolina

David Thoreau gained fame with his musings from Walden Pond, in reality a small non-descript wood shack next to an ordinary pond. Extraordinary about his experience was his ability to become an exemplary student of the world around him. For hundreds of years now, Thoreau’s observations have entranced us with images of a world with its own natural rhythm, a rhythm bringing serenity and clarity to troubled souls.

Here on my second day without video feeds of Gulf oil spills, Forex quotes on European currency pairings, volcanic cancellation notices from airlines, or calls from individuals desperate to create cash flow to maintain their own free spending, I sit here at a tiny table by the window watching the world gently wake up. Three deer wander by, tentative by nature, looking cautiously for low-hanging fruit to feed fawns growing in warm dark places. A black lab dog came sniffing, looking for hand-outs. The abundant hospitality I find myself immersed in includes a glass jar of treats for dogs passing by. This lucky dog got five. There is a curious pleasure deriving from feeding things. All manner of feathered creatures are flitting about, looking for those succulent morsels which will give rise to another generation of high fliers in a few weeks. Large swallowtail butterflies are already about, a bit of a colorful surprise in a region just turning loose from the hardest winter in memory. Thousands of Christmas trees growing below me are all tipped with another winter’s pent up energy. A splendid soft gray cat just came to the door looking for a handout.

There is no plan for the day other than to feed the itinerant dogs that comes my way, to make macro-images of botanical wonders in the garden at the other end of the nearby meditation trail, to establish détente with semi-feral cats, to lounge around and read books that have been languishing under piles of paperwork too long, to fuel my little enterprise with fine meals down at one of the houses below. My major accomplishment thus far has been to open up a couple of those wondrous still-warm eggs from the hen-house and to lightly immerse them in a mixture of virgin olive oil and butter over a low gas flame. Life is good.

Today, many people I hold very dear are struggling with things like cocaine addiction, alcoholism, unemployment, cancer, the tortures of unquiet minds, divorce, jail, permanent confinement to nursing homes, even a despairing sense God is ignoring them in their darkness of soul. I wonder how one can bottle sublime serenity from this mountain top and bring it to the desiccated deserts of troubled lives seared by severe misfortunes of life. How do those in incendiary worlds of shattered dreams embrace the taunting statement of old: “I know the thoughts I have for you, thoughts for good, not for evil, plans that will give you hope and a future.” How does someone who made a very bad choice and will never get off the Row except via the Chair interpret this promise? How does a vibrant young soul trapped in a ninety-year-old desiccated body with few working parts, warehoused and long forgotten in a facility, hope to embrace life? What does it say to a grandmother who has watched all of her children make catastrophic choices and pass the curse of the generations on down to her grandchildren and great grands?

On my visitations I can take bits of chocolate and a few stalks of flowers inside the walls of hospitals, facilities, jails, and darkened homes but far more is required. But what? My theology starts to feel rather inadequate at this point. Here it becomes essential to trust in the experiences of those who have gone before me, those who have found truth.

Vicktor Frankl brought peace and serenity to the souls of countless Jews trapped in the incendiary deserts of the Third Reich’s death camps. His concepts of empowerment and logo-therapy did much to bring hope to those who had no longer had any sense of being God’s chosen people. For those struggling with significance in the hell of Buchenwald, Auschwitz, or Dachau or unemployment in 21st century America, his classic work, Man’s Search for Meaning has been a balm to many tormented souls. Written on specks of toilet paper and other bits of waste while in hell, Frankl managed to find beauty in the spirit of those around him and even in the outer world beyond the camp. One day during what had become daily interrogations and torture, Frankl was sitting in a chair, facing his tormentor, in a room with a very small high window. For a few seconds he was able to see a beautiful bird on a bare branch. He was able in an instant to remember that his keepers did not have the last say on the nature of his world.

Zeibignew Drecki was himself put to the test of fire in Hitler’s death camps. At a profound level he found the promises of old to not be wanting. Despite five and a half years in hell with nearly daily seasonings of torture he came to the conclusion the promises of old held true. In perhaps one of the most astounding and articulate statements put to paper, in his autobiography, Drecki as much said he knew that his Creator loved him and had a magnificent plan for his life, despite it including a long detour through a man-made hell. He was able to differentiate the authors of his life experiences.

Perhaps as with Frankl and with Drecki, it would do me well to pay attention and hear what messages might come from the birds of the air. If God spoke through Balaam’s donkey, he might just speak through the messengers flying outside my window as they did outside those of Frankl and Drecki. I might just need to become a student of the world as did Thoreau out there at Walden Pond.

He has made Himself known through the handiwork of His creation.