The Invisible Carver

"Ya just never know." So began my last post, its sentiment aptly expressed within my own life. Since late August, my husband has had a cascading series of health challenges, and they and the medical response they evoked have turned our world upside down and inside out. Though none of them have been directly life~threatening, these experiences have cumulatively aged my sweet man and brought us both right up against the stark reality that bodies decline, that loss is a given, and that we never truly know what's to come. 

Years ago, my friend's therapist advised her: "Learn Buddhism now. You're gonna need it later." Well, later arrived on my doorstep three months ago and it seems determined to hang around a bit longer. And so I put into practice all I know about impermanence, about being in the moment with what is, simply as it is. I hone my ability to not close down to any of it, and to instead welcome it all with the friendliness of a good innkeeper, no matter the guest who appears at the door. 

Human creature that I am, I have railed against this unruly visitor at times, grumbled about its outrageous behavior, sobbed at the pain it has brought our way...which, of course, did not make it depart. While those responses did provide necessary truth~telling and a much~needed release, I knew that sooner or later I needed to say yes to this troublesome visitor and see in it an opportunity to bring me to my best. 

This, after all, is the essence of a spiritually~informed life. Wisdom teachings worth their salt are not to be lived in the rarefied fields of the abstract. They must be brought to life within life, within our individual lives. And so, I try to receive this scoundrel of a guest and to skillfully use its presence to become the finest version of myself. 

I have been gifted—and cursed—with a tenacious will. I generally know my preferred direction and am usually able to set out upon its course to attain what I desire. As another friend put it, "Leia, you sure know how to get sh*t done." And it's true. I do. 

I know this sense of personal control is largely illusory and that I don't "get sh*t done" in a vacuum, but am helped by many others often including, it seems, several pairs of unseen hands and more than a dollop of luck. And yet, believing I choose my own path is an illusion to which I am partial. And so I am stretched when something like this current challenge lands atop me, and my only choice is in my response to it. I am asked to surrender my dogged will, and to offer myself up to the process of change...and of being changed. 

In The Faces Of Braga, poet David Whyte describes an experience in the shrine room of an ancient Himalayan monastery. After lighting the butter lamps and bowing into the silence, he looked up to see "a hundred faces carved above, eye lines wrinkled in the handheld light." He tells us that "their eyes have softened through age and their mouths curve through delight of the carver's hand." And then he brings it home with these words: "If only our own faces would allow the invisible carver's hand to bring the deep grain of love to the surface." 

I have felt the Invisible Carver's hand in a new way during these past few months. I feel Her chisel as I tend my husband's body, as my heart breaks for his heartbreak, as I grow in my ability to relinquish control, to love more purely, and to surrender to what is. 

One very practical application of this process is the recognition that I must postpone the publication of the book I have poured my heart and soul into writing, the one I've spent much of the past eight months figuring how best to bring into the world. My plan was to have published it last week, but given that so much of my time and energy is now needed elsewhere, to do so would have required cutting corners, and the push to proceed regardless would have been unkind to the me who's working hard just to stay afloat. 

And so I surrendered what I wanted in favor of what life was advising. An initially sad choice, to be sure, but one that now is woven through with considerable relief and an unwavering certainty that following the guidance offered is ultimately for the best. 

Enchanted, A Tale of Remembrance is now scheduled to publish on March 23rd, 2023...and we shall see what the Invisible Carver has to say about that plan. In the meantime, I will do my best to willingly offer myself as She brings the deep grain of love to the surface. 

I end with the wish that your own guests are well~behaved and your Carver is wielding her chisel gently.

Much love, 

Leia

For David Whyte's poem The Faces of Braga, click here. And while I didn't specifically quote Rumi's beautiful poem The Guest House, you can see its influence in all I have written and you can read it here.

And if you missed the last few posts and wanna play catch~up, you can find October's post here, and November's here.