Looking Around

When a puzzle vexes me, I look around. I think about it. I call this process "chewing on it." I look for answers, sure, but they tend to be much more elusive than I first imagine: like the missing car keys or envelope you simply can't remember where last you put, answers make you search around endlessly, wishing God would give a shout out of "Cold. Colder. Now warmer. Warmer still....HOT! HOT!"

But while I'm aiming for answers, I find I get a heck of a lot more...and, occasionally, that more is better than the answers. Really. What could be better than answers, you say? Comfort. Perspective. Wisdom. Experience. Shelter. Or how about bonified acceptance that, well, often life simply is what it is. And I've got to let it go.

While I'm aiming for answers, I find I stand at an array of intersections: can I or can't I? Will I or won't I? Should I or shouldn't I? And, standing there, I look around. I chew on it. Music's melodies comfort me. Wise words grant perspective. I gain experience. And I accept.

At a recent junction, I came across this poem and thought it was applicable to all kind's of life's tensions, really - all kinds of searches for answers. I found it brought comfort, perspective, wisdom, and acceptance. I like how its everyday examples couched in a profound sentiment of imagined "heaven" made me say, out loud, "Yes. That would be nice."

In short, it left me looking around. And I like what I saw.

"Notes from the Other Side"
Jane Kenyon

I divested myself of despair
and fear when I came here.

Now, there is no more catching
one's own eye in the mirror,

there are no bad books, no plastic,
no insurance premiums, and of course

no illness. Contrition
does not exist, nor gnashing

of teeth. No one howls as the first
clod of earth hits the casket.

The poor we no longer have with us.
Our calm hearts strike only the hour,

and God, as promised, proves
to be mercy clothed in light.