Roots have been on mind this week. Led me to two interesting exchanges.
Today I was introduced to Safiya Sinclair on an episode of Everything Happens. The episode title, Rewriting Roots, peaked my interest. The question that made me sit up in my chair was, “When did you first know your words were so powerful?”
That question reminded me of another question. In my spiritual direction conversation this week, I was asked something similar. We were discussing purpose and vocational alignment. The question was something like, “What do you look for to let you know you are on the right path?”
Safiya and I were forced to go back in time. The question was about roots. She answered by telling about her mother’s pivotal role in connecting her to poetry = Roots. I answered by sharing about a grounding exercise to write a personal mission statement my first semester in seminary = Roots.
You want to know about someone’s rise to success, to understand what makes them tick? Question them about their roots.
You want to self-assess if you are fulfilling your calling, if you are growing as you wish, if the seeds you’re planting matter? Go back to your roots.
Jacques Lusseyran (1924-1971) was a blind author, professor, and leader of the French Resistance in WWII. At age 19, Lusseyran was arrested and spent nearly 15 months in the Nazis’ Buthenwald concentration camp. When the U.S. army arrived, Lusseyran was one of roughly 30 survivors of a transport of 2,000 French citizens.
In this collection of Lusseyran’s essays, he recounts becoming blind at age seven, reactions to societal progression, and observations from Buthenwald.
Essay #1, “The Blind in Society,” is his revelation that after his blindness he became aware of an inner light. Here’s one illustration of his observation of that light:
When I was overcome with sorrow, when I let anger take hold of me, when I envied those who saw, the light immediately decreased. Sometimes it even went out completely. Then I became blind. But this blindness was a state of not loving anymore, of sadness; it was not the loss of one’s eyes.
In the final essay, “Poetry in Buchenwald,” Lusseyran shares the power of poetry. His sharing of poetry with fellow prisoners brought hope and happiness. From that, he had this to say about unhappiness:
Unhappiness comes to each of us because we think ourselves at the center of the world, because we have the miserable conviction that we alone suffer to this point of unbearable intensity. Unhappiness is always to feel oneself imprisoned in one’s own skin, in one’s own brain.
I share these two thoughts to record them for future reference. I also share them in hopes that we move more toward love to eliminate the unhappiness we create in ourselves.
Pat Schneider’s writing is inspiring. Needed attempt at brain pressure release.
Unsuspected I approach
They meander
Pacing and pecking, flapping and feeding, united and unique
Unsurprised I pause
They pass
busy and bothered, noticed and noted, caught and captured
Unhesitant I acknowledge
They came
sent and selected, happy and harmonious, celebratory and committed
Reflecting on seeing the flock of ibis on my run this morning, the day after my birthday, and my friend who joked I work like them. “The family flew in.”