Awakening

Seven paths of becoming, 1

‘Therefore, tell me:
what will engage you?
What will open the dark fields of your mind,
Like a lover
at first touching?’
—Mary Oliver, The Leaf and the Cloud

Photo by Frank Cone.

Prelude: new muscle of green

Spring is becoming, and the sap is on the move.

Dear reader,

Spring’s arrival does not always coincide with its official start – the hyacinths aren’t paying much attention to the calendar. Yet, this year, the beginning of March and the coming of the Worm Moon seem to have pulled the new season up from the ground.

Though its signs have been with us for a few weeks now, Monday was the first day that I felt spring: its intangible but definite air of chirp and rise; the soft lip of its urge; Cummings’ leaping greenly spirits; Hopkins’ juice and joy. It is unignorable.

The earth is rousing itself out of its slumber. A call that, at times, we might feel within ourselves.

Thoughts acquire new muscle of green… the infinite
made urgent.

In my last post, I wrote about the possibility of transformation, and believing in change. I touched on the idea of returning to our souls. Of becoming. Repentance – but not in the way you might have heard it spoken about in religious settings; not the flail of judgment, but a call to come back to who we really are.

It’s a theme I’ve wanted to explore in more depth for some time, and the delicious entrance of spring seems like the perfect opportunity to do this. For if ever there was a season to let our imaginations lead us onto new paths – to dream of what might be possible, and then start moving in that direction – then spring is that season.

But where do we begin? How do we become?

At around the time of the winter solstice, when we began our slow swing back towards lightfulness, I wrote down seven words: seven paths of becoming.

Awakening
Accepting
Releasing
Softening
Imagining
Incarnating
Remembering

As we continue to move through the spring, I’ll being offering a short meditation on each of these words – a series of devotions to help shift our souls into a posture of spring and, perhaps, renewal and return. I’m aware that there is a beautifully broad spectrum of religious/spiritual beliefs among you, so I want to reassure you that although this is adjacent to Lent and the coming of Easter, this isn’t going to be a ‘Christian’ series. Hopefully it’ll be a human one.

The exact words and the order might change as we go, as this is one that I’m feeling my way through, rather than planning in detail. And with that caveat, here’s the first meditation.

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Awakening

‘The soul wants to awaken. Every day we are called to the present moment of our lives.’
—Alan Lew, This Is Real And You Are Completely Unprepared

There are many ways to be asleep.

Unconsciousness can look like aimless drifting, and it can look like blind obsession. It can look like numbness. It can look like busyness. It can look like exile, or wilderness. We may have an itch in the back of our spirit that something isn’t right; we may be totally oblivious.

You’re minding your own business; you’re noddingly wearily along; you’re dreaming, but the dreams are just incorporeal fantasies. You’ve been stuck for so long that you’ve settled there. Or maybe you’ve just never been shown that there’s another way to be.

A harmful cycle of behaviour. A pattern that you’ve always followed. A belief that’s kept you in a box. In a tomb.

There are many ways for your eyes to open, for dawn to break over you like a cold wave.

A sudden change in circumstances. A slow, barely perceptible shift in mindset. A word of honesty from a friend; a shock of insight from a stranger. The north wind becomes a south wind. The ground gives way and we reach out to find that something was there all along. The sky collapses and reveals something new. Love becomes grief becomes love.

A discovery of courage. A veil lifted. Realisation. Revelation. Facing the real. Awakening.

It might be a trumpet blast, or a whisper. It might happen in one breathtaking moment, or take years. Either way, the call will come. I promise you, it will come. It might be easy to ignore, or incredibly difficult. But it can be ignored; it can be pushed aside. We might expend great effort doing so in order to stay comfortably asleep.

Transformation won’t happen without your involvement. A decision; a commitment; a turn.

Maybe it’s too painful to contemplate. Change often is – even good change. Sacrifices may have to be made. Strange instructions followed. Leaps of faith.

There is grace; always grace. Maybe you ignored it last time. But the call will come again. And again. Although, it might not come forever – we cannot know when our days here will expire. Love won’t stop knocking at your door, but how much longer are you going to be around to answer?

The choice is there. Will you open it? Will you wake up?

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A little note to say…

I won’t be putting The Green Chapel behind a paywall. I believe that poetry and ideas about God and other lovely things should be as accessible to as many people as possible. Having said that, I am an independent artist, so I need all the support I can get. If you’re able to make a small contribution, I’d be incredibly grateful—it will help me to keep doing what I’m doing, and keep it free. Just click the button below. Thank you, GH.

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PS Apologies for the less-than-great sound quality on the voiceovers recently. I don’t always have access to a good mic, but I’m working on it. Gideon x