Thursday, April 27, 2006
Silence and community (Or, how porcupines are friends..)
I once read a story about several porcupines who huddled together in a den under an old tree during a winter storm. The wet, bitter cold kept pushing them closer together in an attempt to warm themselves, but as they drew nearer to each other, they would begin to feel the needles of one another's quills. So they would add some distance between themselves. The night continued as an odd little dance of moving closer out of necessity, feeling the pain of nearness and backing away again in self-protection, until at some point the porcupines discovered the acceptable balance of proximity. There they each felt a bearable amount of pain and a modicum of warmth.
When Bryan Sherwood quoted Rich Mullins earlier this week, it got me thinking about love and pain. And the odd little dance that I have witnessed (and partcipated in) as people try to figure out space and relationship in the spiritual context. Even when we don't realize it, or aren't able to articulate it, the drive to be in relationship is powerful. We need others, yet we are frightened by the potential (or real) pain of getting "too close." So we pull back, put on a facade .. whatever. Anything to create some distance.
And yet the other edge of the communal sword is sharpened by those who smother and cling and never want to be alone. Without experiencing the chill of aloneness, the warmth of company is devalued. Again I find myself on the scales of self-examination, weighing my routines and relationships, and re-discovering the immense need I have for balance.
I need my friends and family ... but I also need time solitude.
I need group gatherings that are loud and boisterous ... but I also need silence.
I need times of deep emotion where I connect with my feelings ... but I also need cerebral times of objective reflection.
I need exercise ... but I also need rest.
I need to express myslef ... but I also need to listen.
I don't think I am alone in this. Every day is another chance for me to be a porcupine -- to maneuver myself into the delicate place of balance between what brings me pleasure and what brings me pain. I'm thankful for God's ability and practice of meeting me in both.
Peace,
harry
When Bryan Sherwood quoted Rich Mullins earlier this week, it got me thinking about love and pain. And the odd little dance that I have witnessed (and partcipated in) as people try to figure out space and relationship in the spiritual context. Even when we don't realize it, or aren't able to articulate it, the drive to be in relationship is powerful. We need others, yet we are frightened by the potential (or real) pain of getting "too close." So we pull back, put on a facade .. whatever. Anything to create some distance.
And yet the other edge of the communal sword is sharpened by those who smother and cling and never want to be alone. Without experiencing the chill of aloneness, the warmth of company is devalued. Again I find myself on the scales of self-examination, weighing my routines and relationships, and re-discovering the immense need I have for balance.
I need my friends and family ... but I also need time solitude.
I need group gatherings that are loud and boisterous ... but I also need silence.
I need times of deep emotion where I connect with my feelings ... but I also need cerebral times of objective reflection.
I need exercise ... but I also need rest.
I need to express myslef ... but I also need to listen.
I don't think I am alone in this. Every day is another chance for me to be a porcupine -- to maneuver myself into the delicate place of balance between what brings me pleasure and what brings me pain. I'm thankful for God's ability and practice of meeting me in both.
Peace,
harry
