Circling In

Many years ago while studying at Yale Divinity School, I took a class with pastoral theologian Dr. James Dittes. I don’t remember the name of the class, but I can tell you exactly what he said about my writing. “Kate, your writing reminds me of the dog who when getting ready to sleep circles around her bed over and over until she finally drops in.” I didn’t know whether to be pleased or insulted, but in the decades hence his words have come back to me often.

Yes, I do have a tendency to circle. I rarely get right to it, but spend a good anticipatory time in preparation for about everything. Which usually has meant going to Staples in search of the right pens, notecards, paper, filing system. Or on a home project, taking time to plan and seek out the appropriate tools is always more engaging than jumping right in, although not always more effective. The tools often sit unused for weeks. I saw a book recently entitled Stop Buying Bins. I think it may have been written for me.

But when I think about the primary subject matters of this blog – the presence of the sacred and the movement of the spirit – it may be that my method is a helpful one. For how does one write directy about mystery? How can I write about something so constantly present, but so difficult to define? How can anyone go right to the heart of God?

It’s like love. If someone were to ask me to tell them about the love I have for my husband Joel, what else could I do but circle around the apects of it – the kindness, the trust, the joy I have in being with him, the sense of home we have together? How could I just get to the point and say what that love is? Not without losing all the essence.

I don’t have a “to the point” definition of God. I cannot simply settle down into the sacred. But I can circle round and round, ever drawing near the center. Who knows, some day like the tired dog looking for rest, I will just drop in? But I doubt words will ever be able to describe it.

From Let Us Dance! The Stumble and Whirl with the Beloved by Chelan Harkin, book gifted to me by Amy Fiorelli. Thank you, Amy.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT

I don’t know what to call it

so I call it God:

that exquisite flowering of every

piece of me I had once

relegated to the shadows

or what happens

when poetry

opens its fist

in my heart

setting light free.

The seed didn’t know what to call it either.

This Song.

This Relationship.

This thing that led

to the exquisite unfoldment

of my own Nameless Self.

If you come up

with a better name

let me know.

Until then I’ll call it God,

that One who moves me to dip

the cup of consciousness

into the waters

of existence

and whispers

from every ordinary,

precious moment,

“drink deep.”