Have you ever run away from home? Wanted to?
Sounds to me like this is what Gerald May is doing in our latest chapter of his book The Wisdom of the Wilderness: Experiencing the Healing Power of Nature.
In chapter seven, A Perfection of Trees, May flees into the wilderness after a perfectly awful week in a February from hell. He gets caught up in a spiral of negative self-talk and can’t seem to get away from it…no matter how far he runs.
I tried to pray, but all that came out was “Help.” Looking back, I guess that’s about as good and honest as prayer can be, but at the time it felt like yet another failure.
Ever been there?
I know I have. More times than I care to count.
Running away always seems a good answer. For a little while, anyway. But you know the old adage. You can run…but you can’t hide.
May’s self-defeating self-dialogue follows.
It chases him through the snow, slipping, sliding, falling, stumbling up hill, breaking tree limbs as he fights against nature–struggling against himself, it seems.
But something happens as he flails through the snow in his cowboy boots.
As I walked, my mind stopped harassing itself and peacefulness came again–a peacefulness born of the sweet absence of harsh thoughts and the perfect presence of everything around me just being. Such times just happen. There’s no way to make them happen. All you can do, I guess, is put yourself in places where they might happen, want them enough so that the wanting becomes a prayer even if you can’t pray it, and just do what comes naturally.
Even though peace visits, May struggles to hold on to it. He describes the fleeting moment as perfect–where suddenly, everything is exactly the way it should be.
As he studied the forest from a hilltop perch, a pileated woodpecker drew his attention to a copse of trees that appeared dead. May identifies with the trees.
Yeah…I know what it’s like. Done your best and it wasn’t good enough. Old and rotten to the core. Decaying, ugly…
But just as quickly as the thoughts come, May takes a second look.
…when I looked at the trees as individuals I saw all the imperfections of them. Each was broken here and there; all had branches cracked by winds and ice, some split down the middle by lightning; many bore the scars of disease, blighted spots, knots an burls and parasite vines upon them, broken, wounded, growing this way and that, all with their injuries of the years and their imperfections of birth and growth and yet all were absolutely perfect as they were.
May is struck by the subjective nature of what he calls perfection. Once again he identifies with the trees–from quite a different perspective.
It was quite natural, then, to see myself like a tree, imperfect in so many ways and yet, somehow, seen with the eyes of beauty, absolutely perfect.
This is how it always seems to happen, isn’t it? We run away, thinking we are looking for one thing and end up finding something else. An accidental discovery.
May, seeking to escape the parts of himself that cause shame–running away from mistakes he has recently made–instead finds God’s unconditional love. This amazing grace envelops him–imperfections and all.
Food for thought:
**Does the self-talk struggle that May describes surprise you, given all the beautiful insights and experiences he has already written about? Can you think of some Bible characters that may have had some similar psychological setbacks?
**Of a moment of perfection, May says,
Such times just happen. There’s no way to make them happen. All you can do, I guess, is put yourself in places where they might happen, want them enough so that the wanting becomes a prayer even if you can’t pray it, and just do what comes naturally.
What does this mean to you? To put yourself in places where you might be likely to experience moments of perfection? Be specific. Tell us about your special places.
Let’s take a little Thanksgiving break next week from our regular book club postings. We’ll resume with chapter eight on November 30th. Use this time to listen to your wilderness…and be thankful.
Related posts:
Glynn’s A Feeling of Perfection
Erin’s The Wildest Place
post by Laura Boggess of the Wellspring
photo by Nick Peckover used with permission.
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I had three of those “moments of perfection” within about 30 minutes, and in a setting not unlike the one May describes. More details at my blog post, if you’re itnerested. But whatI keyed in on with May’s description was that this moments are what it’s supposed to be like all the time.
The words here have pierced my heart! So beautiful, so poetic, so…..pristene!
I’m glad you are enjoying our discussion, Debby! There are always some neat thoughts floating around this cyberspace. Stop by anytime.
Thanks for sharing those moments of “perfection”, Glynn. I’ve found that solitude in nature allows me to more intently attend to each moment and therefore find those little bits of “perfection”. It makes me think about what May says about seeking out places in which those times are likely to occur. Shouldn’t we do that more often?
On the one hand, I have to admit that this was for me the least favorite chapter. I think it went on too long, and I found myself wanting to say to May, please just stop whining and get to the point. On the other hand, I appreciated the take-away, which for me is in what you quote. We judge and name and label, failing to see each thing as true and “perfect” in itself, of God, made by God, and from God’s hand, and therefore beautiful. (It’s my poor way of describing miksang–finding beauty even in trash.)
I don’t agree with May that you have to put yourself in particular places to experience perfection. When I walk my dogs at night and am able to breathe in the air and look up to the sky and see the stars still there, I think: that’s perfection enough.
Maureen, I’m always encouraged by other people who whine. Then I can feel like I’m not so alone in the practice. Thanks for introducing me to Miksang. That idea really resonates with me. (I find beauty in zombies, after all.)
Laura, I think moments of perfection only “just happen” when I reduce the clutter of my life. That’s what going into the wilderness is all about. I disconnect from phones, work, productive deadlines, etc. That allows me to hear the world around me–and more importantly it allows me to hear what God might be saying to us through the world.
By the way, my favorite way to disconnect is to kayak on the Guadalupe. I have two kayaks. One for me, one for a friend…
Oh this is cool. A reply button. Does it work? Can I rent a kayak with it?
It works, and it shows hierarchy. I highly recommend this as a spiritual practice for those seeking humility. ; – )
We have arrived! When did this little baby appear?
You are both hilarious. Chris Cree turned it on last week.
Maureen,
I’m new to milksang too…way cool!
I found the chapter a bit tiresome too; but mainly because I kept thinking of all the amazing breakthroughs he had already had in nature. I guess it discouraged me a bit–thinking that here is this authority on contemplation and he still lets his self-talk sock him in the gut that way…let’s life distract him from beauty that is right there for the taking. As one who battles such negative self-dialogue, this was a downer for me. If Gerald May gets sucked into the spiral of self-defeat, what hope is there for little old me?
I guess he’s just human, same as me.
Marcus,
I’ve never been in a kayak. Went on a rafting trip once where I got to man one of those ducky boats. That’s the closest I’ve ever come. Do you know how to do one of those roll thingies? You know, under the water and all that? If so, I am very impressed.
Clutter. Yes. Especially the mind clutter. Keeps me from seeing beauty anywhere!
I have GOT to get this book! Great post. Thank you.
I’m glad you stopped by, katdish! jump in any time. we are having a great time with this book. the more the merrier, i always say.
I want to run away … right now.
i want to run away from myself. From the past. from the present. Even from the future.
I want to run away to a better place. To a new tomorrow.
Run! Just as fast as you can. Run, ’til you reach the end. Where the fallen finally land.
Run, now, don’t you look back. Run, toward the lights straight ahead…
Okay, so I stole those lines from Addison Road, but all this to say…
Sometimes where not running away so much as we are running toward Him.
And He gets it.
I was kind of down on this chapter too, ya’ll. It seemed to be a swirling eddy in the midst of the smooth-flowing current I thought we were riding. I’m thankful May documented his exasperation with himself because his mid-book/ mid-journey whining makes it ok for me to not have it all figured out.
Don’t all flowing streams have the occasional swirling eddy? Should we really be surprised when our lives circle around themselves in vain motion- not moving forward, not moving back, just sucking things in and dragging them down?
Jonah, Moses, Abraham. Biblical examples of self-talkers who were prone to swirling eddies. Their whining liberates me to not have my spiritual journey completely figured out.
Perfection:
For me, it’s not so much changing location to a place where perfection is likely to happen, but it’s orienting my heart to be receptive to the perfection that is there where I already am. You’ve got to want to see the perfection and then you (amazingly!) find it everywhere.
It is intriguing to me how May was ill-prepared for Nature in this chapter. No checklists, no monster breakfast provisions. Wearing cowboy boots for cryin’ out loud. I wonder if he became too comfortable with Nature. So familiar with the friendship and hospitality extended thus far that he took things for granted.
“It wasn’t a longing that drew me, but a pressure that drove me. You don’t have to be a psychiatrist to know the difference.”
How does our (self-stated) purpose in Nature affect our experience in Nature? I wonder.
Erin,
This:
“…it’s not so much changing location to a place where perfection is likely to happen, but it’s orienting my heart to be receptive to the perfection that is there where I already am.”
It’s all about our heart, isn’t it? That’s what He’s perfecting. That’s what He’s working on.
I love how you point out that maybe May took nature for granted. (the cowboy boots? come on. that just bugged me.) I do the same thing with so many of those things in my life that has brought me intimacy with God. I hadn’t really thought about it until I read your comment.
Thanks for the thoughts, Erin.
I feel as though I’m the one sitting in the back of the classroom. I read my chapter Y’all, but that’s about it. I read all these amazing comments and feel just a tad foolish.
I have had so many of those same thoughts May wrote about. I’m not sure I would choose to find peace in the same way he does (in fact I know I wouldn’t – sitting in a cave in a snowstorm doesn’t seem quite right to me). I am just thankful that for this simple girl, the Father simply has all the answers.
And to further demonstrate my “simpleness” – I don’t have a clue what L.L. is talking about:-)
I don’t think you are simple at all, Linda!
I have felt these same feelings too…I think Erin makes a great point. We’ve all been there. It’s part of living in this fallen world.
And, no. I don’t think I would seek peace the same way he did either! In fact, I started imagining how those people who have died on Everest (God rest their soul) must have felt as he was describing the cold and wet seeping in. It was not a pleasant thought for me.
I’m still glad you are sticking with this, Linda. You bring such freshness and honesty to our conversation!
I agree with what’s already been said. And I started to feel at this point that these thoughts he’s sharing are only a part of what’s going on with him. Like pages of a diary, where he only lets you read some of it. He seems to have that oh I’ve figured everything out , out wait I haven’t thing driving him . Like many of us , I suppose but he also continually self-talks to convince himself . I think that ’s why he needs the physical discomfort and extended stillness. I find myself wishing peace for him, because that is what he so desperately wants. He’s trying to teach and inspire and articulate beauty but I mostly felt his pain. But that’s where a reader can just be a listener , I guess.
That is exactly how I have been feeling as I read on, Deb. His death just looms, silent in the corners of this story. It does make me sad for him. I feel the struggle of letting go, trusting.
You have a beautiful heart, friend. Thanks for sharing it with us.
The day before I read this chapter a friend had a conversation with someone very excited about his new belief system. He said things like, “I could go to a concentration camp, watch someone get murdered, and it would be beautiful!” Then I read the chapter and saw how May called everything “perfection”—even his treating other poorly. I think May missed something big: repentance. And what God promised will follow: forgiveness.
Two days before I read the chapter, I saw videos by alpharelief.org of some kinds of things the persecuted church goes through. I cannot call that perfection.
I understand the “just-is-ness” of life and every situation. I understand that God can take terrible, horrific things and use them for good. But I cannot ever call it perfection.
Perhaps May uses the word differently than I do…?
It is hard to grasp–perfection as something aversive. I think he means it is perfect in it’s complete aversiveness? Not just a little bad, but so completely bad that is is perfectly bad.
Babbling here, but I did have to do a mental adjustment to accept that too. I think, “perfect”–Adam and Eve, right? Without flaw. I suppose the same can be true for the perfectly bad situations.
I had a hard time with May’s “perfection” concept too, Monica, for the same reasons. Biblically, perfection means complete, finished, flawless, pure. I try to reserve judging something as “perfect” if it relates to the work of Jesus Christ- lest I drift into calling evil things good.
I love what you said about repentance and forgiveness. Jesus is the standard by which we ought to measure perfection.
Maybe we can say the holocaust was completely evil, so- “perfectly” wicked. Still, using that term requires an awful lot of explanation and qualification.
I was struck by the pileated woodpecker in the tree. To May, that particular tree was worthless, dead and ugly. To the woodpecker, the same dead tree was a magnet, intoxicating, exactly what it needs for survival, precisely what it was looking for. Perfection. And, by God’s design for the woodpecker to boot.
It reminded me of his love/hate cicada story from a few chapters earlier.