Wondering

“If our religion is based on wonder

our chief emotion is gratitude.”

                                            Carl Gustav Jung

Wonder. The gift of looking at something with awe and expectancy.  Different than an Easter egg hunt, where you are looking for it out there somewhere. Rather, wonder is something you carry with you, it’s more like an attitude, like planning to be surprised. Wonder is an inside attribute. Interestingly, carrying it around, seems to contribute to it happening. It’s like the world notices and preens before it. Wondering is a form of enchantment. Wonder makes ordinary magic more palpable. Some strange reflective something that puts things in focus, while shifting them onto the spectrum of awe. A life sentence, but of luminescence!

I woke-up recently to this form of noticing. I literally was assaulted with gratitude in my bed. It’s hard to know when awakening actually took place. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t deserve it, call for it, intend it, pray or meditate. It just invaded my soul.

I’d like to live this way. Perhaps, I will. Stranger things have happened.  I feel myself making a home for wonder, but it seems too wild to settle in one place. How does one hold what cannot be held? I am dying to find out.

Recently, I remembered a visit to Chaco Canyon. It was during a vacation with my second wife. Our “Rocks and Ruins Tour.” We pulled off the highway near Durango, and drove 30 miles of dirt road, to a place where wondering was a religion. We, being so sophisticated, didn’t know it at the time. While visiting the ruins of an ancient culture I went down into a Kiva. Maybe there, I got infected with wonder, but what seemed like a hole in the ground, held some kind of essence that enchanted me. I was inducted into a world beyond any I knew. Apparently, some forms of wonder have a long shelf life. Like an ancient tick, it jumped on me.

Now, I’m infected. I regularly view the preposterous as a possibility. Ungrounded as I am, in a disabled body, I get strange messages from what I encounter. Medicine moments arrive unbidden. Reality contorts. The world is full of horror and miracles. Sometimes, they are alike, and I wonder even harder.

My intention, as I sat down to write this, was to extoll the virtue of wonder, to marvel at how aging seems to enhance the probability of experiencing it, to genuflect before a world that contains it. What I’m discovering is that as soon as I realized I knew enough, to know, I knew practically nothing, wonder started flooding in. It turns out, that what I don’t know, opened the flood gates. 

I am blessed to be the rare shut-in, who gets to know wonder, in my interactions with others on the computer. Cyber groups have become visits to Kiva’s. The sacred wonder of meeting on-line. Something happens, that no one expects, but everyone hopes for. One can feel a subtle avalanche occurring, Connection, seemingly made by cyber-gods, takes place. Where actually, it is the power of wonder bringing us all back into an awareness of what has always been true. Connection is, and wonder is one way of broadcasting that recognition.

Yes, gratitude rises with it. I am flushed with I can’t say enough, nor can I be silent enough, to really acknowledge what I am experiencing. I guess, I have little real choice, I have to live it out. Wonder has overcome me, and shown me both sides of this inexplicable world. I am thrilled and I am terrified. I guess that means I’m alive. Wonder of wonders!

Comfort

There is something about the desire for comfort that makes me uneasy. Comfort seems like it ought to be the simplest thing, but as I think about it, especially in the age of climate change, social distrust and all kinds of polarization, I’m finding it to be increasingly elusive. There used to be a time when I found lasting comfort in a warm bed, an affectionate hug, or a poignant silence. Now, even the comforts of life have some element of discomfort in them. I wonder how this can be? Come, wonder with me — maybe we’ll find comfort anew.

Recently I went to someone’s house, to have a climate change discussion with a group of strangers. The gathering was supposed to happen in the host’s back yard. It didn’t. The whole event moved indoors, I gather for comfort’s sake. Someone might have been cold or allergic. The meeting took place, was interesting, and aroused in me later, the realization, that we altered the original environment we  were scheduled to meet in, to improve the comfort of all involved. This was such a normal, and casual change, that no one thought anything about it. It was only later, when I was at home, reflecting upon some vague dissatisfaction with the meeting, that I realized, by seeking greater comfort we had altered our environment.

Naturally, it occurred to me, that seeking comfort in this way, is a big part of how we have created, and maintain, the climate crisis, and other forms of collective threat. Some people’s comfort results in other’s threats. This has been a disturbing realization. Now, I know there are economic and ideological reasons threats exist, but comfort-seeking is something each one of us contributes to the general malaise of our times.

Thinking like this upsets my apple cart, throws me in a tither, and puts a spell on me. Suddenly, I start thinking about comfort. I remembered, that I once spoke to members of the elder salon, about how becoming a community meant learning about being uncomfortable together. Then, I recognized the way seeking-comfort could be a way of abusing others, and caring more about individual comfort than the needs of something larger. Now, I recognize the same principle applies to my desire for comfort. That is an uncomfortable idea.

How strange, that the uncomfortable notion, that my basic practice of seeking comfort can create discomfort, noticing this upsets me, and provides a modicum of comfort. Oddly, my life benefits from my knowing how connected I am — when I become more aware of how much impact I have on others. 

I long to feel connected. Experiencing myself embedded in a matrix of connection, where my actions, small as they are, have impact on others, and on the world I live in, thrills me, calms me down, and gives me a feeling of comfort that seems to reach deep inside me. 

In some way, I feel comforted when I realize I’m part of something larger. So even though the realization that I create discomfort around me, when I seek my kind of comfort, actually becomes more palatable. How paradoxical! Comfort seeking often leads to more systemic discomfort, whereas being open to discomfort, seems to arouse the greatest feeling of being connected, and a greater sense of comfort.

It hasn’t been obvious. This association between comfort and discomfort, it is having an indelible effect upon me. I have been seeking lasting comfort, like the old country western song says, “in all the wrong places.” With some appreciation, of how failing can paradoxically can increase one’s chances of succeeding, I am taking some comfort from the clarity coming my way.