Chaos Churning
And the chaos isn’t done (refer: http://carolinmparadis.com/2017/10/22/blog-uncommon-chaos-churning/).
And my question waits for an answer:
“What, dear Lord, are you trying to show me?”
Yet, still it comes on like the fall 2017 hurricanes Nathan following Maria following Irma. Streaming around me calamitous winds, one after another experience personal turbulence as paths of indiscriminate energies thunder through:
My sister-in-law cradling in a blanket her little dog: “The wind took the door and slammed Sonny’s foot. The vet says she has a broken bone.”
My incredulous cousin: “After almost 30 years of marriage and he can’t even give me a reason for leaving?!”
My daughter: “I didn’t get accepted for The Co-op program.” Co-op was at the centre of her out-of-town choice in university.
My dedicated and hard-working husband: “I serviced the customer to the best of my ability like I always do. The work didn’t get done because the shop was short-staffed. How would I know the guy didn’t do the job? That’s not my responsibility but I’m the one who gets it in the neck?!”
Me, explaining the state of my house as my husband lays flooring: “It’s a mess. Everything from the family room and office is piled into the rest of the house. It’s confusing, I can’t find anything.”
Even the road in front of my house is chewed up and clogged with heavy equipment as the city tears up old asphalt and prepares to lie new. My head spins. How much more before the winds settle?
Running between a chaotic household and respite home to attend my mother post surgery a heavy fatigue settles. What churns this uncommon chaos? It is too much; it is beyond unusual. It is downright unsettling. There is something powerful at play.
At The Center of Chaos
Driving home one night I listen to a CBC radio interview of an American pilot. He flies missions into large storms and hurricanes to gather weather information. His description of the eye of a hurricane juxtaposes the uncanny quiet at the centre to the ragging torrents surrounding. In a place of absolute chaos is a heart of absolute stillness. He wonders at the indescribable tranquility.
In the heart of tumult appears a breathing space; a space to pause; to consider, think, pray. So, too, when we ride out life’s storms, hunker down, hoping and wondering will we make it? If we dare to fly through frightful winds, we will find it–the place at centre where God lives.
And what we might realize at the centre of calm: The reason for chaos.
Fearful Changes
Marianne Williamson is one of my favorite spiritual authors. So inspired by her body of work I often mention her books to friends. At dinner a week before my mother’s surgery a close friend handed me one of Marianne’s books.
“I bought this for you. Don’t worry it only cost me fifty cents.” It was one she knew I hadn’t read.
I was thrilled at the yard-sale gift. It was an edition I meant to borrow from the library but never got around to it.
Days later at the respite home while Mum sleeps after physiotherapy I curl into the sofa-chair by her bed. The rhythmic sound of her breathing and the quietness of the room feel like the covering of a thick blanket – comforting warmth seeps into the cold and weary places of mind and body. I inhale the peace, tension easing from my neck and shoulders on the exhale. Reaching for my friend’s gift I welcome a first chance to crack open the book. And several pages in, rising to greet me, is the answer to my question and the reason for chaos:
The earth, which reflects our moods in ways the ancients understood but the modern mind has forgotten, is now bursting forth in seemingly chaotic ways. It is trying to grow… It is trying to shake off the toxins of our miscreations, physical and emotional… whether the transition is easy or not… these fearful so-called earth changes are actually the earth expressing itself dangerously when we have chosen not to express ourselves creatively.[1]
I am floored.
“Well, I’ll be darned.”
Through the fall hurricanes it seems the earth is shaking itself down, flinging off heavy encumbrances like a wet dog sloughing its fur of heavy moisture.
But the chaos churning on my doorstep and around my friends and acquaintances – what does it mean?
To be continued (refer next post).
[1] Williamson, Marianne. Illuminata – Thoughts, Prayers, Rites of Passage. (New York: Random House, Inc., 1994)