What is this for????
On Sunday morning I went to Meeting for the first time in a while. I craved the silence, the time to sit with my thoughts as opposed to constantly doing the mental checklist amidst a fog of low-level panic that I had forgotten something critical, like my toothbrush before leaving on a trip.
That’s kind of what this fall has felt like, though I am not sure why. The Roadrunner gearing up his wheels to take off, spinning dust into the air right before he takes off. Only I am not making it past the spinning dust part. More like digging the hole deep into the magma layer, thinking I’m about to get moving but never do.
The Meeting house is a pretty little house perched on a low knoll. A covered porch invites sitting and reflecting on the neighborhood. When you walk in, the hush of carpeted, light-filled space soothes some part of you you hadn’t realized was ruffled. And when you enter the main Meeting space, with its handmade pews and simple cushions arranged in a circular pattern, with its soaring ceiling and windows on all sides, something clicks a peaceful switch inside. People smile and nod, even people you don’t know yet, and you pick a seat and settle into silence.
A friend walked in after I did and lit up when she saw me. Rummaging in her pocket as quietly as possible, she reached over and handed me a key. Pantomime and lip-reading are not my strong suit, so I had no solid idea of what the key was for.
I spent the next hour turning that key over and over in my hand. I rubbed it like a magic lamp, hoping the Genie might appear. I felt the edges.
The personal work I’ve been doing is around trying to figure out my purpose. What is my passion, the work I’m meant to do. I want to help people, but that’s about as specific as wishing for world peace. I need to figure out what that looks like, who that looks like. In the car on the way to Meeting, the audio track was about the intersection of skill and passion, and I was busy ruminating on that.
So what’s my key? Is my key my personality? My work with people? My cooking skills or my listening ear or my patience or . . . and what is it the key TO? Is the key to the intersection of my passion and skill the TRUST that is implicit in that key being handed to me?
One small machined piece of metal.
My friend Judy gave me a key. Now it’s my work to determine what that key is and what it opens.
Since Sunday, though, my low-level panic has subsided. I'm sitting with the thought instead of that key. Meeting gave me what I didn't even know what I was looking for - something solid to hold onto and rub and think about.
Now to puzzle it out.