Cairns punctuate the Scottish Highlands and other small hills around. They are path markers, navigational tools. They mark the summit. They are mini-monuments.
The first time I encountered a cairn was when I visited Walden Pond. Close to the place where Thoreau's cabin probably stood, a pile of stones mark it as a sacred spot for Thoreau admirers. It also marks a spot in the life journey of all those who visited this place before me. There is an unspoken connection one feels with others when you come upon a cairn. These pile of stones mark the journey walked by others, including Thoreau himself. I remember wondering about those who have walked before me: Did they like Thoreau's writings as much as I do? Which one was their favorite? Did they want to live in a cabin in the woods? I immediately assumed all these stones represented kindred spirits of mine, for certainly they must love nature too. And I did not forget to consider Thoreau himself walking on the edge of the pond like me or swimming in the water like the man I paused to watch.
The cairn is the center point, a meeting place. Like the center of the labrynth, it marks one of those inward places where we move closest to the Divine. The center of the journey is not always easy to locate, but cairns help us mark where we've been, where we are, and they point us toward some future path on life's journey.
I am beginning to see cairns all around me, though not the ones made of stones carried up a hill. These cairns are rather moments in my life that I find myself wanting to place a stone, wanting to mark the space where I feel so close to the Divine. I suppose it is one of those moments I feel I am touching the universe. There is an unspoken connection with life around me.
I know I am at these moments when I feel full inside, emotionally full, and I want to give from my heart. The cup I carry overflows. I know when I am at one of these moments when I find myself asking, "what if this is as good as it gets?" Well, then, life is pretty good.
I have noticed that in these moments when I delight in the present, I want to hold and memorialize the feeling I have deep inside me. I want to recognize the connection I feel with the Divine. Maybe this is why I have so many stones scattered around my house. Stones are the treasures from the earth that help us remember and hold on to the sacred. A physical sign of something mysterious and mystical.
Surprisingly this week has been full of cairn moments. It is strange how these moments have coincided with the return of our weekly home learning rhythm. As we have returned to the path we walk together, my children and I feel more connected. We have our moments of frustration with each other, our moments of wanting to scream if we already haven't done so, but these moments seem to be part of the journey as well. We work out the trail before us and sometimes it comes with loads of complaining about when we will reach the top.
But amidst the complaining, there was silence.
After we visited Iona last year with our children, we decided to use the Iona morning prayer for our prayer time. We all really like the prayers and my two older ones like taking turns leading. We have been doing this for a while now and my oldest son had begun grumbling, expressing a need for change. I wanted a change as well. So, we decided to try sitting in silence for five minutes together instead. How could silence be so magical? How could it work with chidren? I never had considered this more adult form of prayer for children, but it worked this week. I wonder what else I hold back from sharing with my children about the spiritual world because I think they are too young. I have reached a summit, an aha moment.
Sitting with my children in silence for five minutes brings together all that I long for in life: more pauses, more mindfulness, more peace, more connection with those I love. That silent space has no stones, no pebbles, no rocks, but it has an amazingly mystical center. For now, it is my life's cairn.
Your expression of life's "full" moments is well said. I felt that way several times on my recent trip and asked myself the same question: What if this is as good as it gets?" And at those moments, my heart knew that it was as good as it gets. Then my heart was flooded with gratitude to the Divine for allowing me to feel so full. Thank you for helping me to express my feelings.
ReplyDeleteTracey, What is really great is when you catch that 'fullness' in others. I can recognize it now in my children, even though they can't articulate it. It is a feeling that is best described when we "dwell as close as possible to the channel in which your life flows(Thoreau)." When you catch the flow of your life, it feels so right.
ReplyDeleteSometimes we have "begin with silence" days around here. It means that I turn inward and notice stillness and quietness before I speak. Well, I try. :) I speak less. I speak less harshly. I don't ask anything of my children, but they respond to me... quieting energetically. We are on some other channel -- seeing the fullness in our every day -- at least for moments at a time.
ReplyDeleteWould one think this is possible with a five and two year old? I was desperate enough to try. :) And we found, as you said, the magic in silence.
Stacy,
ReplyDeleteSince I have written this post, we try to start each day with a few moments of sitting together in silence. It has become our pattern. Our Tibetan singing bowl begins and ends our time (usually my children argue over who gets to make it sing). I cherish this ritual because it sets the pattern for the day. I notice that I can connect deeper with myself and with all the other needs that surface throughout the day. I too have noticed that I speak less harshly as a result. And it is so refreshing to just be quiet and breathe.
Thanks for pausing here.