The truth I want to tell revolves here
The truth I want to tell revolves here. There is a story of things working under the surface, needing quiet and dark and warmth and to be left alone, not to be watched. The story involves yeast and roots and compost and marinades and something just a little beyond hearing. No, not working our brain nor the ideas, nor any activity at all. The story is about being worked and savored and allowing natural processes to unfold without turning them to purpose or spurring. This is not a “Do me” resignation, but an active part-taking, one step of which is steeping, gathering, growing in the dark. It is a time apart, a time even purposely taken to soak and ponder.
This is human. This is life. If we go all the time, we run out of gas. But our tanks are not filled with gas, rather something more complex goes on. There is participation and there is hands-off, at the same time. There is a plaiting, a weaving, a being woven, a steeping and choosing to be steeped. Here we are held back by trying to steep or dive deep—we must permit it to come to us. This permitting is activity. Active allowing, passive activity, bravely choosing to undergo a surgical procedure by which we will be changed. And we do not know in what ways.
:- Doug.
