Between the Waves

"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one."

-TS Eliot, Little Gidding



What a beautiful poem. "To arrive at the place where we started, and know the place for the first time." This is the longing in my heart. To go back to the place where I first knew Jesus, before man's religion strangled the newborn shoot.

This was both a place of confidence in God, and adventure for myself. The Great Adventure of getting to know Him. Of hope and possibility, of transformation and refinement.

For years I have lived grieving what was lost. Grieving things I had no say over. I remember when we were first forced to resign our staff position, I would go on these long walks wearing my "celebrity in hiding" sunglasses....and cry. The tears would roll down my face and I would sing this song my Grandfather taught me, "Don't cry for me Argentina. The truth is I never left you. All threw my wild days, my mad existence, I kept my promise, Don't keep your distance."

"The truth is I never left you...." "I never left...." "I didn't want to go."

When my Grandfather passed a few months ago, my mother reminded me of how he taught me that song as a child. I wonder if he had any notion that it would become a coping skill...a survival tool, when I was in the throes of deep grief and trauma.
The trauma phase was rough, it's like living with an exposed wound...you feel everything. After it comes "the fog." It's like walking into a field and having a heavy fog roll in. It's calm, numbing, and disorienting. The road signs that had been directing my life are no longer visible. Points of reference are gone. The world gets bigger and smaller all at the same time. There is space for meandering, and space to get lost. It is in the mist that I discovered grace. In fact in many ways it was grace. The fog, the numbness, the lack of striving, the just being had a grace quality to it. It was healing, comforting in many ways. Like being wrapped in a warm cozy blanket on a misty Puget Sound morning.

The only problem was getting lost there. Getting lost between the waves.