Sacred Connections ^©

Trust: that which binds our relationships, upholds our laws, generates our communities and cradles our dreams. From our first moment on earth we must trust and learn of its consequences. Throughout our lives we must rely on each other.

Robert Keegan, contemporary theorist of faith development reminds us that the greatest influence in the forming of a person's life is the collection of persons who come into that life. We are relational beings. Those we encounter are most influential in the way we see the world and ourselves. That goes for our power of influence as well. We know ourselves best in our relating, we find ourselves most in our responses to others and to our environment.

Trust. Quite a responsibility. Quite a challenge. Sometimes a scary place to be. Sometimes a daunting role to take. But there, nonetheless, in our lives and shaping what it is we can believe, shaping what it is we can become.

If we ask ourselves what it is we most trust, we will also find our sacred ground, that which compels our actions, that which nurtures our love, that which we cherish and know about our lives, that which helps us find our footing when we are lost or confused.

As years continue and we face hurdles and live through experiences that increase our understanding, the trust we claim may shift, deepen, or transform. This is rarely an easy journey. None of us escapes times when we feel betrayed, or moments of disillusionment, moments of surprise and times of doubt.

Each time our trust is challenged, wounded or devastated we learn that much more about what it is that helps us survive, and if we believe in the ability to find that trust again in another form or from another source, we will know how it is we can thrive amidst the pain, the struggles, and the surprise.

For each of us there is something on which we can most rely. Within each of us there is a sacred knowing of what our lives are about. Trust is the ground upon which that sacred knowing can flourish.

But what of those times when trust is thrown into question, when we're thrust into confusion, or sense penetrating doubt. What of the times when we're off balance, times when the strength of life is foreign to our feelings, when we don't feel strong enough to cope or to reconfigure our lives after deep disappointment or disillusionment?

When I think of those painful times that might be called weakness are the same times that inspire me to find my inner strength and to make connections that revive my belief that life is worth living. They are the connections that point to ways to thrive in my living. Each time I'm thrown for a loop my trust eventually grows deeper, gets wiser, and my expectations shift -- become more real. And I trust that I will keep learning with each experience. I trust the truth I have hold of today may very well take on a different shape tomorrow. And because life promises us only this moment, I trust that what I cherish today is of lasting meaning.

Nelle Morton reminds us in her book The Journey Is Home, that "maybe journey is not so much a journey ahead, or a journey into space, but a journey into presence. The farthest place on earth is the journey into the presence of the nearest person to you."

The lessons taught by others do, indeed, influence the shaping of our lives, but the lessons lived are what define us. And one of the most tender and powerful trusts we have is of and in one another.

"The highest compact we can make with our fellow (human) is:", according to Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Let there be truth between us two forevermore.'" (The Conduct of Life, 1870)

If we consider trust as sacred ground, then we naturally cherish one another. Then intimacy, that deep knowledge of self or other, is a sacred connection rising from that ground.

This does not mean we will have any more control or any more safety in this world of chance and change. It does mean, however, that we have surer footing in fielding the changes. It does steady our doubts a bit with the knowledge of our ability to love. It does give us courage to accept and believe in our ability to find the meaning that will carry us into the next moment.

G.K. Chesterton offers that "angels can fly because they take themselves lightly". That happens after they are well grounded in embracing their full selves, potential and calling to venture out into the open air. Free of pretense. Fear of the fear of engagement.

One time I began playing peek-a-boo with a child I had just met. She seemed interested at first as I covered my eyes and moved a little closer. I suddenly revealed my face with an expression of surprise and an accompanying "ah hah"! The child jumped ever so slightly, her face began to change, her body tensed with fear and she burst into tears. As I approached her to try and soothe her, she cried louder, more frightened. I moved back a bit, a little baffled at the reaction, wondering if my face had revealed some horror...letting my mind go with the fear -- so much for the playful, loving baby sitter -- I terrorized the child! I stayed my distance and soon the crying was over. We shared silence, then a gentler, more tentative interchange and slowly the trust began to develop.

My effort for connection clearly had to change course. She was not ready for my playful advances because we did not know each other well enough. I wrongfully assumed she knew the game. We had not built enough intimacy or enough trust to venture new ground. After this first stumble and the belated sensitive recovery, we found our rhythm and all was well. Identifying ourselves to one another is rarely simple.

Lesson learned: even the simplest forms of surprise or discovery will only be welcomed if there is a sense of safety in the surroundings or in our individual capabilities to receive new information. Any interchange must have some form of common understanding or a common intention to relate. And timing is everything. I continue to learn this again and again in my own venture for meaningful interaction.

Hiding. Seeking. Losing. Finding. The constant work of identity. The ebb and flow of recognition and confusion. We cover and uncover ourselves in the flux of our daily lives just as surely as we breathe in and out. We venture, sometimes tentatively, sometimes boldly, in our daily tasks and in our relationships. And just as we are not always conscious of our breathing, so we are more or less conscious of our self-revealing and concealing. There will inevitably be times in our lives when we feel lost and wonder if we will find ourselves and other times, perhaps, when we want to be hidden and wonder if we will be found out. What is it we are hiding? What is it we are seeking?

As we grow with experience and are affected by our personal histories, the outward gestures of identity and mystery become more subtle, even clever. It is common that in response to life's complications, the understanding of when we are concealed and when we are revealed -- when we are playing a role and when we are authentic -- can become blurred and confused even in our own minds. It is quite natural for us to adapt to our surroundings, according to our sense of safety or establishment of trust. And so we may behave one way with our friends, another way with our business acquaintances, and , perhaps a completely different way with our families. At times we may not even recognize ourselves.

The concept of identity springs from the Latin root idem, meaning, "the same". Identity arises from the notion of something always being the same or always being itself, rather than something else. The spiritual grounding of home base arises from one's relationship with the Divine mystery, that sacred sameness which pervades all things.

This is a very intimate connection, hard to keep strong in the course of day to day living. It is also a connection which transforms as experience dictates, for we are not constant beings, we are a part of this world of seasons, cycles, and systems. Our understanding of all that is expands and contracts according to what we encounter, how grounded we feel and how open we are to change.

Identity is not formed in a vacuum. It is a relational understanding. We are defined as part of a whole, as a unique contributor to that whole in relation to others. In this rapid paced world of change and chance, competition and ambition, a solid sense of identity is easily lost in the shuffle. Finding solid ground as we interact is tricky, vulnerable business. Timing and trust are important factors in our determining when and how to interact.

The peek-a-boo games we play with each other in our lives are often defense mechanisms or scouting devises to test the ground before deeper revealing.

Hiding. Seeking. Losing. Finding. The constant work of identity. The ebb and flow of recognition and confusion. We cover and uncover ourselves in the flux of our daily lives just as surely as we breathe in and out. We venture, sometimes tentatively, sometimes boldly, in our daily tasks and in our relationships. And just as we are not always conscious of our breathing, so we are more or less conscious of our self-revealing and concealing. There will inevitably be times in our lives when we feel lost and wonder if we will find ourselves and other times, perhaps, when we want to be hidden and wonder if we will be found out. What is it we are hiding? What is it we are seeking? Olly-olly-oxen free...a call to return to home base now and again to get your bearings before venturing out again.

There are times and situations when we must protect ourselves, when intuition tells us to be reticent, when it would be invasive to another's safety or to our own. We need to honor that hesitation with the understanding that it is our choice to remain distant. For our sacred connections come to life through mutual exchange, when there is relatively equal openness to giving and receiving.

That's what makes the beauty in nature so astounding. It is ever available for our wonder. It ever receives our whole selves. "The universe responds", wrote Alice Walker, "what we ask of it, it gives...." Knowing how hard it is for us to open ourselves to others, the intimacy of our earth connections and its constant presence in our lives is extraordinary and, often, a way towards healing.

"When despair for the world grows in me," writes Wendell Berry,"and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feed. I come into the peace of wild things," he tells us,"who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free."