The wet sheet wrapped itself around my legs, a tangled mess I was too tired to fix. The pillowcase was damp, and no matter what direction I turned the sweat created by dream-filled REM sleep chilled my body head to toe. My hopeless struggles with bedding, exhausting as they were, paled compared to the relentless sound and sight of the word Charybdis in my dreams. A clownish carnival barker shouted Charybdis while standing beneath a blinding Broadway marquee declaring opening night of the play CHARYBDIS, starring Roger Marum. It was 1:30, the morning of December 8th, the first Saturday of Advent.
The desperate attempts to silence my inner turmoil involved typical mindful yet disconcerting prayer requests that became, as they often do, demands and rants about what God needs to fix and change in a world gone awry and in chaos—including my own self-absorbing craziness. If you’re Infinite, I’d think, take care of this and change that…
Hours passed, and the counted sheep, offered prayers and meditations with mindful breathing failed to disentangle me from the clinging Egyptian cotton and the troubling dreamscape, but when the alarm went off at 6:00, I was relieved the night had come to an end even without the desired rest.
My curiosity about Charybdis, a second cup of coffee, and the instant access of the internet informed me about the Greek myth of Scylla and Charybdis, two terrifying sea monsters at the Strait of Messina between Sicily and the mainland of Italy. These mythic figures forced seafarers to choose between two evils: Scylla, the six-headed monster, or Charybdis, a devouring whirlpool.
I’d spent the night between a rock and a hard place, teetering on the edge of a whirlpool.
Reluctant to shelve my questions about the restless night, but committed to the 7:30 monthly men’s breakfast at the North Ferrisburgh United Methodist Church, I dressed and drove to the meeting. Unraveling the messiness of the previous night lingered as Ed, a church member, led a discussion on “waiting,” which began with his statement that: “A waiting person is someone who is present to the moment, who believes that this moment is the moment.”
Ironic, I thought as I listened to others among our group of ten share their thoughts on the subject while I continued to wrestle with the previous night’s events, including my haranguing God for not taking care of business.
Embracing the silence to listen while waiting is elusive and uncomfortable to my soul as I chatter away and clutter the emptiness so there’s little room for the Great Mystery to speak. Writer Debi Thomas gets what too often eludes me: “Silent prayer asks me to believe that God’s work has little to do with my consciousness or emotional experience and that what happens in the silence [of waiting] is meant to be mysterious—even to me.”
The Old Testament prophet Isaiah prophesied (Isaiah 11:6-9):
“The wolf will live with the lamb,
the panther lie down with the kid,
calf, lion and fat-stock beast together,
with a little boy to lead them.
The cow and the bear will graze,
their young will lie down together.
The lion will eat hay like the ox.
The infant will play over the den of the adder;
the baby will put his hand into the viper’s lair.
No hurt, no harm will be done
on all of my holy mountain,
for the country will be full of knowledge of Yahweh
as the waters cover the sea.”
That’s what I wish for the world this Advent season, as well as that which Thoreau and Kipling address when they respectively write about “…all good abides with him who waits wisely,” and “…if you can wait and not be tired of waiting…”
Patience in life, let alone in prayer, is foreign to my experience and practice of either. “God’s first language is silence,” writes St. John of the Cross, a thought I can agree with but fail to practice.
Returning home after the breakfast, I sought solace and silence in my office. Ed’s prompts and the thoughts of the others caused me to ask if I could learn to be patient and embrace waiting in silence for The Other to speak? I am a reluctant disciple, filled with question and doubt: Is my desire for God wishful thinking? Or do my cluttering rants and incessant laments fill the silence God needs to be heard?
Joseph Campbell wrote: “We must be willing to get rid of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” A smile occurred as I read those words. Not only have I planned a life, but I script my prayers to fill the space, and fall in love with my words and thoughts leaving little room for the smiling Mystery to be heard.
There is comfort in the words of Frederick Buechner: “We work and goof off, we love and we dream, we have wonderful times and awful times, are cruelly hurt and hurt others cruelly, get mad and get bored and scared stiff and ache with desire, do all such human things as these, and if our faith [whatever it may be] is not mainly window dressing or a rabbit’s foot or fire insurance, it is because it grows out of precisely this kind of human compost.”
A night of thrashing added to the human compost pile that is mine, and it is my hope this Advent season that out of that mix of ingredients a new birth may occur. Perhaps a measure of holiness will appear in the silent waiting, and when it does my Christmas wish for all of us is that we’ll experience what the white pearl tells Rinkitink in L. Frank Baum’s book The Land of Oz: “Never question the truth of what you fail to understand, for the world is filled with wonders….”
by 
I liked this very much Roger my friend. In many ways I identify more and more with Soren Kirkegaard and his approach to knowing God and filtering life experiences one step at a time. This contrasts with chapter-and-verse proof texting so company among fundamentalists.
Lambert,
Kierkegaard’s belief and approach demands more of me than the less challenging fundamentalist approach and belief. Like you his approach fits, albeit uncomfortably so, with my life experience with God, and subsequently with humankind. “Chapter-and-verse proof texting” has frequently, if not always, dispelled the mystery of faith and belief for me. Thank you, my friend, for reading and commenting.
Roger
Thank you, Roger. I’m sorry I missed Ed’s breakfast session, but glad I found your aperture to Advent. Waiting, and waiting quietly, is not something we do very well these days. Like you, I am distracted from a blessed Advent by my own planning, my own frustrations. Producing plenty of compost.
Gary,
We missed you too. Here’s to a rich and nurturing compost, and patient waiting while it “brews” and “percolates” its magic!
Thank you for reading and commenting.
Roger
As one who also often wrestles with God and current events at 3am, this piece of yours resonants with me. And as one who was present at that breakfast, I would observe that we are assisted in our attempts at waiting within a “community”. Henri Nouwen went on to say in the piece you quoted towards the beginning about a waiting person being present in the moment:
“It is a community of support, celebration, and affirmation in which we can lift up what has already begun in us…to form community to be together, gathered around a promise affirming that something is really happening…Christian community is the place where we keep the flame alive among us and take it seriously.”
We nurture community in many places – this blog, those breakfasts, Sunday morning worship, attempts at book studies, a glass of wine with friends.
Ted,
Thank you for reading and commenting, and your comments about waiting in community ring true for me as well. We “… are assisted in our attempts at waiting within a “community,” and that bond is special regardless of the setting. Finding silence and solitude while feeling the important presence of others in community is difficult for me because I’m easily distracted. To be fully present to my inner world while embracing the presence of those around and with me can be a challenge–one that requires discipline that eludes my grasp (sometimes).
Roger
This piece has given me new insight into my goal for myself: To live with happiness in the midst of things the way they are. I see that now as patience, waiting, being present in the moment, letting things unfold as they will. Perhaps that is an Eastern way of thinking as opposed to the Christian belief in a Supreme Being who could miraculously make everything right, I find Campbell’s notion that “We must be willing to get rid of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us” to be especially helpful,
Dona,
Thank you for taking the time to read and comment.”…patience, waiting, being present in the moment, letting things unfold as they will” isn’t easily done, and so I wish you encouragement as you move into “the life that is waiting for” you. However many times I falter in my attempts, knowing that you and others are on the same journey gives me hope.
Roger
What a wonderful, wonderful post, Roger. I loved your story, could feel your fear of the whirlpool or 6 headed dragon. Beautiful quotes which I needed to hear and read. Thank you. I will revisit your story throughout January as I move to a new locale and life. Merry Christmas and happy New Year!
JoAnne,
Merry Christmas to you and my wish for a Happy New Year as you “move to a new locale and life.”
Roger
As the waters cover the sea the earth will be full of knowledge of Yahweh resonates with me as I enjoy living at the sea in Sequim, WA and away from the fires of California. Although I too wake up after seemingly crazy dreams I usually enjoy trying to interpret them in light of current and long past events. Looking at the sea and the maritime traffic in the Strait of Juan de Fuca somehow anchors me to my Danish roots in a comforting way. I enjoyed your writing Roger and wish you blessed holidays
Kay,
Thank you for commenting. Current and past events are often compelling and may enter our sleep in the form of dreams we struggle and have fun with as we apply interpretations to them. Being open to what the Strait of Juan de Fuca brings to mind and “anchors me to my Danish roots in a comforting way,” is well said. Vermont reminds me of the wonderful childhood experiences of living in Norway–thank you for reminding me of this.
Roger
Your remarkable openness and wonderful writing about your inner struggles and seeking to understand the mystery of this life, is a gift to all of us, your readers, to glimpse and reflect upon our own composting on the brink of our own Charybdis.
Your descriptive images, woven together with the wisdom of others, offer us a way to see, feel, and put together pieces of our own puzzle, and recognize our common experience in living and searching. I am slowly learning to wait in silence, in the present moment, accepting what is, and what is not, and the holy whole of it all. Wishing you the blessings of this Christmas season with peace of mind, love in your heart and joy in your soul. Write on, mon ami.
Colette,
Thank you for reading, commenting and your kind words and encouragement. Putting “together pieces of our own puzzle” can be done in solitude, but may be enhanced in the community of others–their physical presence and their written words–you state this well, and thank you. I wish you these same blessings as well.
Roger
This reminds me of the Psalmist’s word about being still. It is hard to do in our 24/7 super charged world. Being still before God encourages our being. That may enable us to be still and present with others. I read recently that God’s Present is His Prescence. Thanks for reminding us that waiting is not only OK, it is good for us
Alan,
I agree and thank you for reading and commenting. One of the misguided tacts I choose is when I assume action to be necessary for presence. Thanks for reminding me that stillness exudes presence.
Roger
Roger,
I enjoyed your post and tried to write a comment, but I was blocked as a “bot,” and though I’ve been accused of being many things in life this was a first!
Sue
Sue,
Thank you for your comment. Though I’ve never been called a “bot,” I have been called, and deservedly so, a “butt.”
Roger
Roger,
A ditty just sprang to mind;
“Let us then be up and doing
With a heart for any fate.
Still achieving. Still pursuing.
Learn to labor and to wait.”
I have no idea who wrote this or where it came from or if I even remember it correctly, but it has been instructing me as far back as I can remember.
Dona
Dona,
Never heard this ditty, thank you, and hope if someone reading this knows the source they’ll help us. Having a heart for any fate is challenging, and I love the last line!
Roger
Roger, Google knew. The ditty is from the Psalm of Life by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He was from my hometown Portland, Maine; so I was exposed to a lot of his works as a child.
Thank you, Dona. Excellent childhood influence, and kudos to those who “introduced” the two of you!
Roger
Roger
Thank you, Roger!
I’m reminded of T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets (beyond the part about waiting, I’ve included a line at the beginning, and several lyrical lines at the end about memory and mortality).
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing–
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
Yet the faith and the hope and the love are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning,
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.
Bob
Bob,
Thank you for sharing this passage of Eliot’s poem–beautiful and poignant lyrics to ponder and savor this season.
Roger
Roger,
Good stuff, artful weaving of the unconscious, conscious, and dare I say hyper-conscious (or at least meta-conscious).
I liked the Campbell quote and its soft reprimand to those of us most comfortable in control; so too Thomas’s reminder that some (most?) of our time here is meant to be of mystery, and then the most basic and therefore purest, the silence of St John of the Cross invites us to recognize as overture.
Thanks for sharing
Peace and glee this season,
Ed
Ed,
Thank you for reading, commenting, and offering kind and encouraging words.
Peace and glee this season to you and your family,
Roger
A thousand thoughts flood my mind as I grapple with the wisdom of your writing,
Roger. The world is indeed filled with wonders and in my old age (75 now) I am more convinced than ever of my creature status in this mysterious and unfolding and expanding universe. I am reminded of the customized license plate of a recovering friend of mine: “Not God”! This is one of the themes of the Big Book of AA. I am finally settling into my role as no more than a bit player, not quite a mute extra, in this drama of life. I feel greatly relieved and strangely elevated by this assignment. Among other realities I do not have to judge every person and every issue that comes to my attention. I am more accepting and less discriminating, which allows me to forfeit a huge workload for which I an not qualified in any case. A creature is meant to be creative, and so I have the free time to be spontaneous and adventurous in my own mini-world of relationships and job assignments. I accept this role with glee and relish (and a little mustard on the side!). (Well, maybe I don’t accept this role as much as I give myself credit. This last comment is a bit too spontaneous and frivolous and I am sure it will not survive the final cut.)
!
Bill,
“I feel greatly relieved and strangely elevated by this assignment,” states what Advent is all about, and coupled with your next sentences expresses what we celebrate not just at Christmas, but year round–we have an agent in the Christ child who takes on the load and makes our journey less arduous. Reinhold Niebuhr prayed it simply, as you well know: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” Thank you, Bill.
Roger