This semester, I have found myself most Sunday afternoons feeling stuck. I don't want to use my mind and I don't want to move off my couch. Nothing seems to sink in past surface level and I would simply scroll through Facebook, not taking in any information but merely skimming. I heard someone once describe this feeling as the "fog of war." Battling with negativity, artificiality, and cynicism for too long leads to this lethargic state of in between, not giving up but not contributing, lukewarm in the truest sense of the word. I wonder if part of the solution to this "fog of war" is to simply be around something that is real. Something that is created. To feel the wind, even if it is bitter cold. To listen to a piece of music that is so beautiful or tragic that it brings tears to your eyes. To touch a tree or a blade of grass. To watch an ant crawl across the sidewalk. To see the sunset or to feel the rain fall. When I am surrounded by screens and walls and ...
I left our Lion’s Gate excursion with very little written in my journal. It was a refreshing departure from our normal classroom setting and I enjoyed learning various trivia about the greenery surrounding us, but there wasn’t much to be gained in the way of introspection. I sat on the grass trying to feel something. Then I felt stupid and put my book away. This is nothing new to me. From my formative years to now I’ve grappled with spirituality and the “Other” we’ve alluded to in class so frequently. The idea of the Wilderness always appealed to me--the idea of disconnecting with worldly distraction is pursuit of God. Whether it was sitting in the chapel of my parish or standing alone on a beach, I would pray in the hope that something would respond. I grew discouraged. The act of being in the wilderness is not exclusively what makes something sacred--this I’ve come to learn. It chooses to reveal itself when it feels the need to. I like the idea of the sacred being on my terms. Of course this is a faulty notion, but nevertheless, this was the mentality which has permeated all aspects of my faith or lack thereof. In relation to this field trip of sorts, my inability to concentrate or reflect on anything is perhaps an indication that the sacred way has a fickle way of revealing itself.
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