Strange Wisdom: Part Two

Simple sayings have the power to startle us, jolting us out of the drudge of daily life and beckoning us toward the capacious and the real.

Like this one from the I Ching:

In a village, the well does not move.

Our lives—both inside and out—teem, and yet in our center, we hold a steadiness that grounds and nourishes, a clarity that gets fed by deep, invisible sources.

Here’s another gem from the I Ching:

Balance your basket on the winding path.

Only recently did I realize that balance can never be achieved, at least not for more than a breath. Life continually shifts, which means that what balances us one moment (a conversation with a friend) might drain us the next (when our social battery is at nil).

This runs counter to our habit of if/then thinking. If I get this job, eat this food, start this habit (or stop that one), find this love, get this cat, whatever, whatever, whatever, then I will be happy and balanced.

No. At least not for long.

Because there is no one choice, person, or thing that will make us balanced and happy forever and ever amen. Because balance is not a one and done. Hunky Dory Land is as real as Oz. We can dream about it, talk about it, even seek it till our dying day, but it does not exist in the real world.

That’s because balance is not a state. Or a stopping point. It is a conversation with each and every moment. We have to continually check in: What now? What next?

That can become exhausting in its own way. Just one more thing to do and what if you get it wrong? What if you think this will bring you balance when in fact it is what knocks you more out of balance than ever?

More than that, life often piles on. We aren’t just dealing with a challenge at work, but suddenly a loved one needs care and the car won’t start and the dog ate a box of chocolates and how much sh!t can one body make and take?

Not to mention that our lives often move through the years like a wild river—now dry, now flooded, and never, ever in a straight line. We imagine we know the direction we are going only to find we’ve suddenly been forced in a completely new and often bewildering and unwanted way.

This reminds me of this ring I bought in Sedona.

When I showed it to a friend of mine, who is half Portuguese, she said they have a saying: God writes straight on crooked lines.

I do not know a single human who has lived a freeway life. There might be stretches of rocketing in the direction you want to go, but in general, we are all steering our bodies along what can feel like a perilous path, trekking on paths steep and unsettled.

One wrong step and . . . .

We navigate these demands while carrying all manner of things—expectations, dreams, needs, demands, histories, traumas, desires and chapstick—and we can’t just put them all down. At least not for long. We need to carry at least some things along the scree-riddled paths we walk everyday to survive.

Balance your basket on the winding path brings intention and choice into our walking of the way.

Too much of one thing? What about a gentle shift to make the going easier?

Not enough of another? What kind and intentional addition might even things out? Like a bath or a candle? Like getting lost in a book or the woods?

It might sound like strange wisdom, but on your life path, may you be a beast.

A creature of the earth, grounded and strong.

One that drinks from the clearest and happiest of streams, one that lives where your feet are.

From that real and centered well-ness of yours, hold a conversation with the now. Choose what you will carry with care.

What will you hold onto?

What can you leave behind?

In the midst of life’s twists and turns, edges and burdens, what is your next best step?