I went to the Alaskan wilderness for 3 weeks. I rode my bike across Oregon, Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, and British Columbia. I spent a summer in rural Pennsylvania, and kayaked with Killer Whales on the eastern shore of Vancouver Island. I walked over a hundred miles on the John Muir Trail.
Plenty was acquired through each, but never the thing I sought. Eventually, any interest I had in traveling was gone. I attribute the disappearance of my youthful wanderlust to 2 things:
- I don't enjoy being rushed in the way that accompanies most vacations meant for relaxation.
- I have never gotten wiser to anything on my travels, or gained insight into anything, that I couldn't have come to staying home.
Or in Seaside.
Seaslum
Seaside is like Monterey's misfit brother. You know, the one you kind of like hanging out with when it's just the two of you, alone, but when others are around you find yourself dissing with the bandwagon, "I know. I'm not sure why he does that, the freak."
Seaside is where Monterey keeps it's Dollar Store, Adult Book Store, Fast Food Restaurants, Asian Massage Parlors, ethnic groups, and Poor People. If you live in Monterey, Seaside is the closet you never open when guests are over.
Seaside has one main, commercial boulevard that cuts through it. It's lined with every large chain department store, fast food joint, or car dealership necessary to satisfy any consumer need, or desire, you might have. Beyond that, it's an urban jungle of common streets where deep divisions of class, and race, allow danger to be courted on any. You can observe human grit, or desperation there, if that's your thing.
You can also find inspiration.
Sometimes it's triggered by a traumatic loss. Other times it comes without warning. Either way, it signifies a collapse of all meaning, significance in life, and the deconstruction of ego, and identity.
you will experience the following:
A Dark Night
There is no doubt I'm experiencing a Dark Night of the Soul. The term was first used by 16th century poet, and mystic, Saint John of the Cross, and refers to a state in which one experiences a loss of meaning, loss of connection, and loss of the essential framework that once upheld their life. In religious terms, the Dark Night of the Soul refers to the darkness, and profound suffering, one experiences to develop a stronger union with God.Sometimes it's triggered by a traumatic loss. Other times it comes without warning. Either way, it signifies a collapse of all meaning, significance in life, and the deconstruction of ego, and identity.
If you're experiencing the
Dark Night of the Soul,
- Loss of faith, beliefs, and values.
- Loss of identity, not knowing who you are anymore.
- Feel a deep sense of alienation and loneliness.
- Inability to find solace in what you once valued.
- Immense uncertainty, and the feeling of existential instability.
- Desire for an authentic, and deeply meaningful life.
- Constant desire for Solitude.
- Loss of former meaning, drive and purpose.
- Deep dissatisfaction with life, and increased cynicism.
Without being dramatic, I am in the midst of them all.
I don't know how I wound up here, or what route I followed to arrive. I only know that somewhere on my journey I asked for a glimpse of this place, and that I knew someday I'd get one.
Genuine Intersection
The answer I alluded to having heard in my brother's sermon (Weight of Alone) directed me to form a stronger union with God. He illuminated why it was necessary for me to do so, and when I heard it, I knew it was directed at me, and that it was right. I knew why what had transpired between me, and my students, didn't matter, and I knew why, no matter what the reason for my dismissal, I needed to be dismissed.
The question isn't whether our innate gifts are benefiting someone. The question is are they benefiting who they are intended to benefit. In the course of my brother's reassurance to me, he made it clear that mine are not. So did my last visit to Seaside.
My last visit to Seaside occurred about two weeks prior to my dismissal from my teaching job. I had gone there to sit in a coffee shop to look over documents, and utilize the local Kinko's.
As I pulled up to a red light at a busy intersection I noticed an elderly woman in a wheelchair. She was bent to the side, and she used her feet to pull herself forward a foot or two at a time. She rolled off the curb, and into the crosswalk just as the light for her passage turned red. I tensed as I anticipated the congestion that was about to occur.
None did. Instead, there was a uniform display of patience from every individual sitting in a car stacked in the four lanes facing the intersection occupied by the elderly woman. The light cycled through one change, then another, and another, yet no one moved. No one honked their horn, and no one went around the car parked ahead of them.
The question isn't whether our innate gifts are benefiting someone. The question is are they benefiting who they are intended to benefit. In the course of my brother's reassurance to me, he made it clear that mine are not. So did my last visit to Seaside.
My last visit to Seaside occurred about two weeks prior to my dismissal from my teaching job. I had gone there to sit in a coffee shop to look over documents, and utilize the local Kinko's.
As I pulled up to a red light at a busy intersection I noticed an elderly woman in a wheelchair. She was bent to the side, and she used her feet to pull herself forward a foot or two at a time. She rolled off the curb, and into the crosswalk just as the light for her passage turned red. I tensed as I anticipated the congestion that was about to occur.
None did. Instead, there was a uniform display of patience from every individual sitting in a car stacked in the four lanes facing the intersection occupied by the elderly woman. The light cycled through one change, then another, and another, yet no one moved. No one honked their horn, and no one went around the car parked ahead of them.
On the light's fourth cycle a car door opened on a car across from me, and a man got out. Another door opened to the right of me, and to the left, and from behind, until six individuals were standing around the woman in a sort of human shield. No one touched her wheelchair. They were just speaking to her, and smiling, and they did that until she was safely at the curb on the other side. I sat in my car, and cried.
I cried because I wanted to open my door, but couldn't. I cried because I was moved by the woman's resolve, and by the patience surrounding it. I cried because I didn't anticipate its appearance. I cried because I knew I was fighting to keep another job that I could use as an excuse for not taking the one I'm made to occupy, one it appears I have no say in. I cried because I'm not certain I can.
I didn't know I was in a dark night until I stumbled upon the term two days ago, but when I read it, it was clear. I'm in one. I'm in one and the only way out is through the space I've spent my life making excuses not to enter.
It doesn't matter if anyone else understands, or can see the big picture that surrounds me. It doesn't matter if my complaints regarding how I've been treated, or the circumstances that hold them are accurate. It doesn't matter. All that matters is my next step, and how firmly I decide to take it. All that matters is everything.
I didn't know I was in a dark night until I stumbled upon the term two days ago, but when I read it, it was clear. I'm in one. I'm in one and the only way out is through the space I've spent my life making excuses not to enter.
It doesn't matter if anyone else understands, or can see the big picture that surrounds me. It doesn't matter if my complaints regarding how I've been treated, or the circumstances that hold them are accurate. It doesn't matter. All that matters is my next step, and how firmly I decide to take it. All that matters is everything.
