The Hermitage, the Deer, and the Chakras - A Hot Mess

Read Part 1 about the Deer here.

"...it's okay to have seasons when we're weary and wasted with grief. God loves us and wants us just as much when everything is a hot mess as when we have it all together."

                                                                                        --James Neal

THE ANXIETY ATTACKS STARTED COMING towards the middle of fall. I didn't want to admit it, but I was a hot mess, and I was weary. Good American males are not supposed to feel this way, and especially not when they are as blessed--materially, professionally and personally--as I am. Nonetheless, as August bled into September, as fall baseball and soccer began in earnest, as the days grew shorter, I found it harder and harder to push myself through extracurricular activities, wanting, more than anything else, to return to that spot on my couch, lights down low, Sonia's TV show in the background, eyes closed, hoping to rest enough to not feel so damn tired the next day. 

But it never worked. Each morning, I would vow to seize the day; but by the end of it--whether it was 4:00, 6:00 or 8:00--all I wanted to do was lay down in that semi-darkness. I vowed the weekend would be different: I would get to the gym, I would take a brisk walk at Hickory Hill Park, I would get to the Java House and write or read something intellectually stimulating. And then I would lay down on the couch and read Helter Skelter, the true crime thriller from the 1970's,  for the twentieth or thirtieth time. And then, of course, I would feel guilty. Of course I felt weary! How could I expect to feel good if I wasn't challenging myself, working out, enjoying nature? 

One evening in October, pulling into the driveway after coaching Orlando's soccer practice, a memory popped into my head from 2007, when I sometimes felt so scared, so off-balance, that I didn't even like it when Sonia left the house because I was afraid of my own thoughts. And suddenly I became worried that this might happen again, this all-consuming fear, that I would again become that needy, that out-of-sorts, that much of a hot mess. And my body and mind kicked into that familiar but forgotten cycle of thoughts causing the heart to pound, causing more thoughts, causing more heart-pounding, causing more thoughts, and on and on....

*************

ONCE THESE FUCKING THINGS START, anxiety attacks are like lightning strikes on a humid June evening: sometimes they don't materialize, but there's always the possibility, and you never know when or how strong they'll be. They started popping up in all sorts of places; sometimes I'd be in front of my students when a thought would seize me, and teaching through it was like dodging lightning bolts. Invariably, they'd leave me exhausted: I could damn sure forget about the gym on those days.

As November deepened and I recommitted to healthier habits, I began to feel better; but just when I thought maybe I'd cleared the danger, I'd have another friendly incident, as if God was telling me, "No, you're not there yet."  Talking things over with Sonia and a couple of close friends, I began to formulate the idea of going on a private retreat, where I could be in silence, with only books and nature for company, away from the noise of the world; I suppose the idea was akin to taking a blimp-level view of my life, to see if such time might aid me in teasing out the stimuli that wouldn't let me just be.

The more I thought about it, the more I liked it, and I'm lucky to be married to a woman who encouraged me, rather than complaining about being left alone in charge of the kids. One morning in December, I did a Google search on "spiritual retreat Eastern Iowa", and three places popped up on the little map. The closest one was Prairiewoods, in Hiawatha; at first, I was concerned I wouldn't be close enough to nature, but as I browsed the website, it became clear that Prairiewoods, indeed, had immediate access to Nature. 

A couple of days later, I talked on the phone to Sister Ann Jackson, who explained how it all worked. We agreed on the dates--3 nights in early January--and then she said to me, "You know, it sounds like you might be interested in using one of our hermitages."

"What's a hermitage?" I asked.

"It's a little cottage," she explained, "about 50 yards or so away from the main buildings. It has a stove, refrigerator, table, shower, a twin bed, a recliner, and that's about it. Totally Franciscan."

I thought about it...but not very long. "Yes," I said. "That sounds like exactly like what I'm looking for."

************

ON JANUARY 1, 2020, I LOADED up the trunk with 3 days worth of frozen meals and other little treats. I had a small suitcase with 4 changes of clothing, winter gear, and two bags full of books.  

Sonia drove me up to Hiawatha. Ann Jackson met us, showed us around the place, and took us out to the hermitage; we agreed on a time to meet the next day, then she left. The hermitage was exactly as she described it, a maximum of maybe 400 square feet. Sonia helped me unload the car, smiled at me, told me she loved me and to enjoy this time. And then she was gone, too. It was late afternoon in the woods and soon the sun would be setting.

The Hermitage, the Deer, and the Chakras - The Deer

I've been trying to figure out how to tell y'all this story--well, hold on there. It's not really so much a story so much as it is a moment, but to understand the moment, there are certain things you have to understand around that moment, and how they are influencing my present understanding of that moment. The problem is, though, insomuch as it is not a story, there is not really a chronological timeline to rely on, nor any other conventional story-telling thread which I can pick out and exploit. So I'm just gonna start from the end; well, not quite the end, actually, more of a middle point, closer to the end. Maybe. Actually it might be the beginning...?

Ah, fuck it. I'm just gonna start with the story itself, and then as I try to fill in everything that's relevant around it, I hope to transmit to y'all (and to myself) everything that moment was. I'll have to place some blind trust in you, the reader, and for that matter, in myself. The outcome is not assured; but, then again, if I want to believe that I believe that bullshit about "Life's a journey, not a destination", maybe this is just the story I need to be telling; and more to the point, maybe this is just the way I need to be telling it. Maybe?

It starts with some deer.


************

I was in the grand city of Hiawatha, Iowa, at a place called Prairiewoods, a spiritual refuge/conservation center set up back in the 1980's by some Franciscan nuns in Wisconsin. The original plan had been to send some nuns down there, but with the steady decline of Catholic women dedicating their entire lives to the service of God, the numbers weren't going to work out. So after some prayerful contemplation and research, the nuns decided to convert the site into a spiritual resource center, where ordinary citizens, Catholic, Protestant, non-Christian or non-believers, might find solace in nature. Stretching to over 70 acres, most of the land has been rededicated to native prairie grasses and oak trees, with the exception of two medium-size buildings: a convention center, where group retreats might be led; and a guest house, where those on retreat might stay.

My first full day at Prairie woods, January 2 of this year, I went out to walk the Labyrinth. The Labyrinth is a small circle, no more than 50 or 60 feet in diameter, that you enter and walk through. It guides you in and out, in and out, until you get into the center; then you walk the same way out.  The Labyrinth has been used by various cultures, going back 4 millennia, as a spiritual tool; the most famous still-existing Labyrinth in the Christian tradition was laid down in France in the 1100's.

I had never walked a Labyrinth. I takes a surprising amount of time, depending on how quickly you decide to walk. I simply placed on foot in front of the other, not hurrying, but not crawling, either (as some Labyrinth seekers do). 15 or 20 minutes into my walk, I looked up and saw a small doe. Looking around, I saw another one; and another one; and another one; and another one: five in all. They were standing around, just hanging out, 30 or so feet around from me. I stopped for a moment to savor the sight. I smiled. It was nice. Then I continued walking.

Eventually I made it to the center. The deer had moved away now, and I crouched down and said a prayer. I began following the Labyrinth back out.

After I left the Labyrinth, I turned around to get one last look. It had been a pleasant, quieting experience. I must have really been into my thoughts; I hadn't noticed that the deer had returned. One, in particular, was standing only about 15 feet away from me. Suppressing the urge to walk up to her, I just watched her, and she watched me. Minutes went by. Then, almost awkwardly, she walked forward 3 feet or so. We continued to look at each other. Again, minutes went by, and again, walking as though it hurt, she came closer. Patiently, I waited. Again, she came closer.

We were now separated by a mere five feet. She was utterly without fear, and again I had to suppress the urge to reach out and pet her.  It occurred to me that I had kind of a shit-eating grin on my face as the doe watched me, bent down to sniff, watched me again.

We must have stayed in our respective positions ten minutes or so. Then, as slowly as she had come forward, she began to back up. She walked around the Labyrinth to join her friends.

I checked my phone. It was almost sunset and I wanted to be in an advantageous place to watch it. I waved to the deer and I, too, began to back up.

Trust

"Jesus directs our attention to holy food...because he wants us to break the cycle of worrying over the next meal, the next paycheck, the next set of bills...."

                                                                                  --James Neal

THIS.

It is quite possible that my latest bout with anxiety was conceived last summer, when a four week period of uncertainty hung over us, over whether Sonia would get unemployment, plus a huge personal loan to help with debts, plus an abundance of free time with which to worry, with, of course, a healthy dose of guilt thrown in. (Who would I be without guilt?) And it became very easy, addictive almost, to worry about all that. One could even argue that it was the right and responsible thing to do.

But now, a few months removed from the situation, I can see that I lost myself in an endless array of temporal affairs. I prayed, and I'm sure I prayed "right", but I didn't trust. I did not recognize my own powerlessness because I confused it with irresponsibility.

It's not hard to understand what happened (and, to a certain degree, continues to happen, although being at work helps.). Indeed, it would have been surprising had it NOT happened. Yet, what God wants us to do is to trust. Of course, God wants us to do all those things which are within our power, but, that being accomplished: TRUST.


***************

An image has popped into my head now and again over the course of this retreat. Me, fully grown but an infant. God, sometimes a man, sometimes a woman, holds me in the crook of their arm, held against their chest.

I am their child. I will abandon myself to Them. I will trust.

             

Sunrise at Prairiewoods

THIS MORNING I SAT in the East window seat of my Hermitage at Prairiewoods, north of Hiawatha, Iowa, and I watched after my phone announced “Civil Dawn, Light Begins”. The woods began to appear, first as a blur, then more discretely. After a while the pink in the sky began to turn into yellow, but only in a certain range due southeast: it would be from there that the sun would come. My phone sang upon “Official Sunrise” and suddenly died, out of battery, as I began to scour more intensely for the orb. Promptly I came to realize that it was coming up behind a thick tree. I moved to the south glass doors, where I had tied the curtains up upon awakening; and there I saw it; not exactly spherical due to the brush and clouds distorting it, but there nonetheless, and it was Thursday, it is Thursday, January 2, 2020, and I am alive, and I am God’s child, and I am here in the prairie woods north of Hiawatha with no car and a dead cell phone, but the world pays me no heed, it simply moves on without me. And yet I am still a child of God.