Wednesday Reflection (Imbolc 5)

Paying attention takes mental and psychological energy. It is much easier to make habitual choices. In fact, we humans are internally wired to put things in categories and to apply old lessons to new situations so that we don’t need to stop and think – which can be a dangerous activity when one is being chased by a saber-tooth tiger. Effective reflexes and instincts survive because our ancestors didn’t stop to think through each situation as if it were a one-off (“Hmm. Tiger. Should I run this time or not?”). The folks who paused mid-flight to reflect got eaten, and their genetic material got eliminated from the pool. So as a survival mechanism, habits that have worked in the past turn out to be life- and time-savers, except…

…except when they don’t. Except when the old lesson doesn’t really apply to the new situation. Except when our prejudices are over-active and the category into which we put a person or an idea isn’t accurate. Except when we don’t perceive or pay attention to the difference between, say, a rock and a hand grenade. Except when the old habits become so habitual that they stop us from experiencing or thinking anything new.

So paying attention takes energy…and courage. We need to risk stopping and looking and pondering. And doing that will put our life in danger. At least, it will put our status quo life in danger of being changed. We may need to give up some of those old habits and habitual choices. Maybe we discover we have more in common with conservatives (or liberals) than we imagined. Maybe we will discover we share some profound beliefs with Roman Catholics (or Buddhists or atheists) – something our long-ago Sunday school teacher couldn’t have predicted. Maybe we find that straight people (or gay, bisexual, lesbian, transgender, transsexual, and asexual) people are actually people like us, who need to go to the dentist, buy food, pay taxes, wrestle with fidelity, raise children, work for difficult bosses, suffer disease…and really don’t think about sex all that much when all is said and done.

One of the fears that makes it hard for me to allow this transformation is the fear of my own mortality. What if somehow I “lose” myself in the process – because it is a form of death to let go of an old identify defined by familiar values, especially if they are values shared by a community that holds and supports me. Maybe it is the same for you.

So, this week, I invite you to spend some time in a cemetery. I invite you to wander a bit, reading gravestones. Notice what appears on them: dates, words of affection, mention of relationships to a wider community, scripture verses or poetry. Notice recurring designs or truly unique designs. Notice the size and shape, even the placement in the cemetery – near the gates, along the walls, in their own enclosed plot with a low fence or a wall.

I invite you to think about your own death. Think about what you would like on your own gravestone. Do you even want a marker? What do you want people to know about you? What matters?

Take some time to think about aspects of yourself you may be ready to let go, to let die. If you were to mark those aspects with a stone, what would it say?

Perhaps you may find this reflection helpful or meaningful:

I will not be seduced by a suave, top-hatted Death

who offers to wrap me in satin and mahogany

to protect me from the danger of living.

I will dance barefoot under a new moon with gypsies.

I will wear pied colors that clash and, yes, I will dance with gypsies.

I will not share my bed with thoughts as comfortable as flannel pyjamas.

I will insist on silken thoughts that make me blush

or raft me through the rapids of streams of consciousness.

I will not wear the eyeglasses of 20-20 habit.

I’ll insist on telescopes and microscopes

and lenses that turn the world upside down…

and, while I’m at it, I will look in fun-house mirrors.

I will learn how deep I have to rappel to find the center of my heart

and how thin the air is at the far-flung boundaries of my dreams.

I will risk every atom of my being

to be alive.

–Andrea

The Celtic Cross photo is available as a special order card or print from my Etsy shop.