Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Christmas Eve 2013

When I'm riding the most wonderful things come to mind. I compose amazing and possibly insightful prose, but then I get home. My "Riding Mind" becomes Cinderella  and the marvelous spell cast by two wheels unravels. By the time I can sit myself down at the computer I'm lucky to have one slipper. It is much like trying to remember a dream. I can almost, but not quite. It is very frustrating.

Today I saw a couple of those "Happy Birthday, Jesus," signs planted in folk's yards. I cannot tell you how much I dislike those signs. Hello! We don't know when Jesus was born. Christians didn't really need to celebrate his birthday until it became important to confirm his humanity after much time emphasizing his divinity. "Yes," Christmas says, "Rejoice, Jesus was born. He is truly human." And what better time to affirm this great joy then when the light is once more overcoming the darkness.

As I was pondering this, my "Riding Mind" was remembering the Jerusalem Talmud saying the Messiah would be born on Tisha B'Av, the Ninth Day of the Jewish month of Av, which usually falls sometime between late July and early August. On Tisha B'Av both the First Temple and the Second Temple were destroyed. On Tisha B'Av, in 1290, the Jews were expelled from England. On Tisha B'Av in 1492, the Jews were expelled from Spain. Tisha B'Av has become the day when all the tragedies experienced by the Jewish People coalesce into a profound sadness. Here the Messiah doesn't come bringing light into the darkness, but rather hope into the sadness.

During the past week a friend died. It was the end of a long and truly heroic struggle against the darkness of a number of ailments. Another friend's mother suffered a stroke. Another friend is in the midst of a long standing custody battle which once again turned for the worse. Another friend's sister chose to end her life. Darkness and sadness.

My "Riding Mind" embraced all this, knew all this, and could explain how both Christmas and Tisha B'Av point us to the really big truth: The two times we are most profoundly open to the Holy are at times of great joy and at times of deep sadness. Of the two, sadness seems the more well worn path. Personally, I'm not sure joy has every opened me up to experience Life at its most profoundest. I know sadness has. The Holy has entered my life on the wings of healing. I'm still waiting to encounter the Whirling Wonder through joy.

My "Riding Mind" was overflowing with wonderful things to say to support my friends in their struggles and griefs. Then the ride ended and clarity slipped away. It always seems to.

10 comments:

  1. I can relate wholeheartedly to your first paragraph. If only there was some way to capture that brilliance at the time. But, alas, it all ends up in the ether from whence it came.
    I'm sorry about your friend. It's never a good time to lose a friend but Christmas seems unnecessarily cruel. And while I'm not a religious person I have seen much evidence to support your observations about the Holy, joy, and sadness; I know far more people who have embraced religion as a result of tragedy than for any other reason. And I am truly at a loss to understand why that is.

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    1. She had suffered for many years. It was time and that makes a difference in facing the grief. She and all who know her have had plenty of time to prepare for her leaving.

      It just seems a broken heart can open us to life in ways we never were before. When this happens something very precious happens. On the other hand I've seen people become religious as a way to close off the pain and leaving the wound unhealed. That is not so precious, or holy.

      Thanks for the comment. I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who experience elusive brilliance while riding.

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  2. Thanks for this post. It's lovely.

    One reason why I love driving is that I have notepaper in my car and a pen. And sometimes lunch and winter gear and and a shovel and work related items and on and on. Oh, and a heater for those minus degree times. Perhaps a notepad around your neck with your camera (too much stuff!) and a pull over when you need to write something down.

    I'm sorry that your friend passed on. And the other sad things you mention. Extremes cause us to be truly present. The trick is to do this without the extremes. But then you know this.

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    1. Being present. Yes. It is so easy to slip into the forgetfulness of autopilot.

      I'm very glad you thought the post lovely.

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  3. Our riding minds sure can come up with some great stuff can't they.

    I like to compose blog posts in my head as I ride and then when I get home I wonder where all that witty brilliance went as I have nothing.

    Embrace the sadness and the joy for we are still alive to experience them both. We lose those close to us, but we are alive and continue to remember their happy times. They'd want us too.

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    1. I suspect there is some delusion going on with my alleged brilliance. Still, there is something deeply integrative which occurs when I ride. I suspect like many, maybe all things it is about the process more than the actual result.

      Embracing life. Yes, all of life.

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  5. Keith I have experienced the riding mind and then forgetful mind upon arrival at home. I am so sorry to hear about your friends. There is one thing I have learned over the years is that most times through sadness and times of adversity comes resilience, courage, and joy, or at the very least appreciation of the goodness in my life. Thank you for your lovely blog posts this past year.

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    1. Dar,
      You're very welcome and thank you for dropping by. You are one of the really special folks in the blogosphere.

      Resilience. What a wonderful world. Sadly, I have seen many who become brittle and bitter.

      Appreciation and gratitude. Yes, the makings of a well lived life.

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  6. Ah yes, the riding mind ... so clear, so full of brilliant ideas inside the helmet. Sometimes I feel genius inside my helmet - it must be genius as I ride along talking to myself, otherwise I might call it insanity, the two being oh so close.
    Keith both sorrow and joy are cumulative and make us who we are ... thanks for reminding me sometimes that can be bitter, as long as we are aware, we can do something about it. Here's hoping you find joy in 2014 oh and stuff a notepad into your tank bag, I know it's a pain to stop but pull over and jot down the highlights of brilliance to spark your memory when you get home (but really, from your blog posts, you really do quite well to remember - keep on writing and singing your song!)

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