Feb 29, 2008
In My Hurry
I feel like the world moves faster than I can perceive it, and even as a freshman in college, I am getting too old to keep up with it. Toni Morrison, in Beloved, says that a man can get "bone
tired." He can feel a kind of fatigue that seeps deeper than muscle, into the marrow, and on, into the soul. Can't you feel it? Every morning it gets harder to step down from my bed, as I lay there thinking about all of the work I have in front of me, all of the people I want to spend time with, the books I would read if I had time, the movies I want to see, classes I want to take, trips, summer jobs, careers, relationships. It weighs so heavily some days that it's hard to sit up. Everything goes so quickly, and every once in a while, I just need to slow down. I need to be still, to let myself sink, fall to the bottom. To say, "Let the world rage around me, I am going to be here for a moment." Sometimes it's not until you let yourself be taken under that you can actually take a full breath.
I spent this past weekend at Fall Creek Falls state park at the RUF winter retreat, and if nature is good for anything, it's breathing. Fall Creek Falls is one of the most beautiful places on earth. I swear to you, the pictures do not do it justice. Half of the beauty is in the feel. Imagine finally crowning a peak in the trail, and hearing, for the first time, the sound of rushing water. Or, imagine picking your way down a dangerous slope for an hour, and legs shaking, exhausted, you step out onto a river bank, forests and falls in every direction. I had been there before this weekend, with my scout troop a few times, and then with two friends over the spring break of my senior year in high school. Every time I go, I see something new. Every time, there is something more for me to learn, and some deeper aspect of God etched into the stone or growing in the trees.
This weekend reminded me constantly about one of the better aspects of starting a college career. It's not anything physical, but it's not an experience either. It's more of a change in perception, and your perception, your construal, changes the actuality of everything around you. I have no clue when I started to change, and I almost missed it in my hurry. I didn't take the time to notice my mind shifting.
I'm not the only one who has changed since high school. Some people become better students. Some stop working, others work too hard at too many things. Some dodge from vice to vice to avoid noticing a change. Some, like me, admit to confusion and little else. All of these reactions have the same driving force behind them: in the latter part of high school, and in college as well, people begin to see things, not only with their eyes, but with their souls and minds as well, and on this newfound level, very few things make sense. Very few things fulfill.
As I sat there, on the edge of the Cumberland Plateau, I didn't see a waterfall, some woods, and whatever else was physically there. I heard a song in the fall, and whispers in the water. I don't know if what I heard made any sense, but it felt clearly profound. I felt the water make sense, and it related to me things that no one else knows and that I cannot explain. You have to go. You have to hear it for yourself.
This weekend was oddly spiritual for me. I was too tired out by the hike and several smoke-thickened conversations the night before to make any sense of the sermon that night. I even closed my eyes for a moment, and felt his words wash over me. I leaned back, and breathed them in.
Katie Burriss, once again, has been so gracious to supply the first photo in the post. Many thanks.
tired." He can feel a kind of fatigue that seeps deeper than muscle, into the marrow, and on, into the soul. Can't you feel it? Every morning it gets harder to step down from my bed, as I lay there thinking about all of the work I have in front of me, all of the people I want to spend time with, the books I would read if I had time, the movies I want to see, classes I want to take, trips, summer jobs, careers, relationships. It weighs so heavily some days that it's hard to sit up. Everything goes so quickly, and every once in a while, I just need to slow down. I need to be still, to let myself sink, fall to the bottom. To say, "Let the world rage around me, I am going to be here for a moment." Sometimes it's not until you let yourself be taken under that you can actually take a full breath.I spent this past weekend at Fall Creek Falls state park at the RUF winter retreat, and if nature is good for anything, it's breathing. Fall Creek Falls is one of the most beautiful places on earth. I swear to you, the pictures do not do it justice. Half of the beauty is in the feel. Imagine finally crowning a peak in the trail, and hearing, for the first time, the sound of rushing water. Or, imagine picking your way down a dangerous slope for an hour, and legs shaking, exhausted, you step out onto a river bank, forests and falls in every direction. I had been there before this weekend, with my scout troop a few times, and then with two friends over the spring break of my senior year in high school. Every time I go, I see something new. Every time, there is something more for me to learn, and some deeper aspect of God etched into the stone or growing in the trees.
This weekend reminded me constantly about one of the better aspects of starting a college career. It's not anything physical, but it's not an experience either. It's more of a change in perception, and your perception, your construal, changes the actuality of everything around you. I have no clue when I started to change, and I almost missed it in my hurry. I didn't take the time to notice my mind shifting.
I'm not the only one who has changed since high school. Some people become better students. Some stop working, others work too hard at too many things. Some dodge from vice to vice to avoid noticing a change. Some, like me, admit to confusion and little else. All of these reactions have the same driving force behind them: in the latter part of high school, and in college as well, people begin to see things, not only with their eyes, but with their souls and minds as well, and on this newfound level, very few things make sense. Very few things fulfill.
As I sat there, on the edge of the Cumberland Plateau, I didn't see a waterfall, some woods, and whatever else was physically there. I heard a song in the fall, and whispers in the water. I don't know if what I heard made any sense, but it felt clearly profound. I felt the water make sense, and it related to me things that no one else knows and that I cannot explain. You have to go. You have to hear it for yourself.This weekend was oddly spiritual for me. I was too tired out by the hike and several smoke-thickened conversations the night before to make any sense of the sermon that night. I even closed my eyes for a moment, and felt his words wash over me. I leaned back, and breathed them in.
Katie Burriss, once again, has been so gracious to supply the first photo in the post. Many thanks.
• • •
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
« Home