Driving Miss Sunshine

Perhaps our search for self begins as if we are transported around town by a beneficent chauffeur with a  black limousine. At first, we don’t have any idea where this chauffeur is taking us. Then with the routine of life, the embarkation points and destinations become familiar as we look out the window. Our chauffeur eventually shares with us, the dutiful passenger, his or her route and interesting landmarks that we pass. We begin to ask questions and express our preferences of route and eventual destination. Why are we going there now? I’d like to go to the ice cream shop instead of the zoo. This road is very busy and jammed at this time of the day; let’s try a different route, okay?

Then we may graduate to driving our own sensible car. We learn to prepare a route, to study the map, to back-track when we take a wrong turn, to ask for directions from trust-worthy persons. Perhaps we become ambitious and earn ourselves a red sports car that is capable of great speed and consumption of high octane fuel. We consume with little regard of our exhaust, of our carbon footprint, for our neighbors. We are on a mission of our own definition. Our red speedster turns heads; garners covert, envious glances of approval; sustains, promotes our worldly status. Or so we tell ourselves…

Then life may show us off the expressway via accident or blinding moment on the Damascus road. We now ride a motorcycle for more adventurous exploration. Now, we are not watching television through the side window or through the windshield. We have our helmet, leather boots, and tough outerwear between our tender hearts and the indifferent elements. We are immersed in the surrounding environment, racing to our calling. It is exhilarating and breath-taking. Even the pelting, soaking rain engenders vitality.

After a while, perhaps exposure to the rawness of life wears upon us. We need a bicycle energized by our own muscle and sinew. Still we direct ourselves to where we want to go, perhaps with less drive, with more attention. The air of the sunlit-dappled mountain trail is sweet and cool. We feel the life of the unseen in the forest.  We are the “raindrop filled with joy as it enters the river” (Sufi).

We learn the pleasures, the necessity for the soul, of contemplation, attention, intention. We dismount the last vehicle and sit on the inviting boulder to rest and to wait. The bluebird chirps, the stream babbles. Our soul calls and we listen. And after we tire of attending, we just are.

Ed. Note: I have read over the last few years these books:

Let Your Life Speak by P. Palmer

Through the Narrow Gate by K. Armstrong

Always We Begin Again by J. McQuiston II

Dreams: God's Forgotten Language by J. Sanford

Following the Path by J. Chittister