Sometimes it seems that the past decade or so of my life has been a series of transitions, with no time to settle into any one place before something new rolls around. At times I long for stasis, but as much as I long for meditative stillness, without movement the calm can rapidly become stagnation. I could claim this restlessness is new, but that would be misleading, as I have always had that restless side, just as I have also always had my introspective quiet side that simply wants a safe quiet space.
Increasingly I seem to think that this tension between change and stasis is part of the human condition, that we constantly struggle with both. We need security, a safe place to protect us from the ravages of the world, but we also need change. The world changes around us and we need to adapt or die. More than that, we have developed these brains that push us into further change. An essential part of our nature is to push ourselves, to create, and creation itself is an act of change. And so we are torn.
Recently, I sent a friend a quote from Ernesto Cardenal's Gospel in Solentename, this from Vol 3, page 74:
"The law of the universe is the law of evolution, that's the supreme law of God. Any other law that tries to hold onto the past is an unjust law. Father Juan Luis Segundo says that in the language of the New Testament 'sin' is equal to conservatism: it's the attitude opposed to change."
Creation is, in and of itself an act of change. Something is transformed into something else. We are born into this world, and the very process that leads to our birth, to our becoming fully human is a process of change, from cell to embryo to infant; from infant to child to adult to old age and death. Of course we are not the only thing that changes. The world changes around us daily, seasonally, eternally.
And yet, still we cling to safety and security, to stasis, forgetting that we need to move as the world moves around us or risk being crushed. And yes, I intentionally chose that word, not because of some need to feel negative, but because it is a danger we face, the crushing not only of our lives but of our spirits and it can be a process that is painfully slow as well as one that is blindingly fast.
The simple fact is that we are not islands standing still in the storm. We are creatures of relationships, and relationships are fluid, constantly changing. We are constantly changing. I am not the person I was last month or last year. You are not the person you were last month or last year. Those changes may be dramatic, but more likely they are extremely subtle. The question becomes how to be hold onto our sense of self while we also hold onto our relationships and push forward, creating a space that is good for ourselves and our relationships while holding onto responsibility for our actions, both as individuals and as a group. In short we must be flexible, even when we are not so inclined.
Six weeks ago, more or less, I was at a Women's retreat and we played a game of sorts. A series of geometric shapes were posted on the wall and we were to gather near the shape that spoke most deeply to us. I ended up at the rectangle. It was not one of the most popular shapes, but I was, and still am happy with my choice, even though I came very close to choosing other shapes, and might do so on any given day. Still, I think I prefer to return to the rectangle. Why? Here is what was written about the rectangle (from a management training program from the early 1990's):
Strengths: confused shape, not frozen they are going through a change such as a new manager, just moved, etc. Going through a transition or soul searching. Represents growth -- everyone of us has been this shape. Can be this shape for 1 day to 15 days. In turmoil of some extent to see what works and what doesn't. Change from day to day, hour to hour. They are growing all the time. Weaknesses: They make a lot of mistakes -- this is O.K. as it is part of being human.
I got the impression the author didn't really like rectangles. I get that. Much as I feel drawn to change, see it as necessary even, I don't always particularly like it much. When faced with too much change I would rather crawl under the covers and never get out of bed. I don't think I am alone in that feeling.
I like the flexibility of the rectangular shape. It can be short and squat, almost a square, or long and skinny, almost a line. It bridges the space between the other two shapes I was most drawn to, the square (or box) and the squiggle, or bent line. The square and the squiggle define in some ways my ongoing struggle between my boxy, organized, structural and meticulous side with my creative, questioning, innovative and conceptual side. The part of me that wants order fights with the part of me that never stops thinking of new things, that revels in chaos. Perhaps my happy place is one or the other but something else, something in between: the good old rectangle. Most of my life I have struggled with organization/disorganization and stasis/change. I will never be the most organized. I will never be the most creative. But I am perfectly comfortable with the less strictly defined boundaries of that rectangle, and growing more comfortable as I age, now that I realize that life doesn't really have to be an either/or. Perhaps that squiggle just needs to poke into that old square and drag it out, just a little bit, creating something new in the joining.
I do think the author is correct in that we have all been in transitional spaces, and we all return to them occasionally, just as we probably all have dominant spaces where are personalities are most comfortable residing. When I was younger my organized structure-loving self struggled with my chaotic creative self, but I am growing more comfortable in the spaces in between. I can't stay there, in between, but gradually I am accepting the ability to let life and my relationships, both to the people I know and love and the earth I live in, temper my stance. Perhaps growing older is a process of growing more comfortable with more fluid understandings, with an acknowledgement that one does not lose the self by relaxing the boundaries, but perhaps finds oneself more fully.
