You might fear the margin place because you do not trust it.
You are not sure what it will give birth to. You have not learned that the
margin is an abundant wellspring of healing and peace, beauty
and creativity, rebirth and deep faith.
Creating room for margin is a great risk- unwanted emotion,
memories, needs and desires may well up within you or sprout up beside you
where you sit in solitude and silence.
Here in the margin place there can be discord. But is that
the end of the journey?
If you know your Creator, you know there is more to come and
it ends with freedom.
I know the margin place.
I thought it would
breed nightmarish things, and so I was afraid. But I found that it produced a
beauty and creativity that was all its own, and so I am grateful.
A great tall tree filled with wild, frantic, swinging
monkeys looms great and tall above all else in this vast plain of learning here
in the margin space where I find myself. It is an ambiguous place of unknowns.
Discord swings from branch to branch, jumping in strife for
every need to be met, each impulse to be known, all desires to be quenched.
Discord does not have permission to speak, and so I must
enter the margin and become a catalyst for Kingdom peace., bringing voice to
the unspoken sufferings.
I abide here in the margin place, underneath this chaotic
tyranny of wild and demanding unspoken needs which swing from branch to branch
above my head.
But how did I arrive here, in this foreign space where so much
work is left undone?
I started with permission.
I
gave my mind permission to enter fully in a place of margin, the space in-between
physical hurry and spiritual sleep.
Without permission it is possible to create margin but never fully abide within it.
Without permission it is possible to create margin but never fully abide within it.
As I awakened to the freedom of permitting mental margin, I
found myself crawling up out of a cave…
~*~
It is a beautiful cave, but it is an ice cave- bright white,
glistening, and utterly frozen. It is in
a state of perpetual perfection because all things are held in place by the
captivity of ice.
There is failure in perfectionism.
This is often why I fail to write.
This is why I cannot live here forever. It is my frozen Egypt.
Creating margin is
parting the waters of perfectionism and journeying into the unknown.
This is why I must crawl out of this cave, out into the Son,
because I cannot discover the next steps if I am trapped in the slippery cold confines
of perfect silent stillness.
Not all things which glisten white and shining are an
invitation to freedom.
So I crawl up, out of this gorgeous sparkling cavern full of
white and pointed teeth, a gaping mouth of icy consumption. I arrive on a warm
beach, with the smell of the sea and the sound of the waves arresting my frozen
senses and awakening the flow of life within me.
Here in the margin the
only plan is Christlikeness- numerous victories and countless failures are in
store for those who journey here.
The margin is not for the faint of heart- it is deeply vulnerable.
Scanning the horizon, I see only endless water in that
direction- an eternity of vast open space and liquid blue. This seascape is teeming
with life and vast beyond measure, and wave upon wave crash over the sand.
To my left is the gaping mouth of the ice cave. In front of
me is the eternity of the ocean. To my right is an eternal expanse of open
beach, with a cliffside jutting up and blocking the view of whatever is above.
I feel no curiosity just yet, only a faint sense of
gratitude and an overwhelming sense of fatigue. I walk several steps away from
the entrance to the cave, until the jagged frozen teeth and the icy breath do
not haunt my thawing skin.
And then I sit down, quite simply, creating personal space
upon the sand with my back to the cliff and my feet crossed under me, my face
pointed towards the shore.
This is the next step in the journey through the margin- you
must create opportunity for contemplation, holding space for connection with
the Author of your journey as you wonder where to go next, because often you
will find the path is unmarked and you are blazing a brand new trail.
As I rest on the sand, there is a trembling beside me and
the earth itself gives birth to a massive tree which rises up beside me, so
close that I can reach out and touch the rough trunk with my right hand.
This tree is massive, grand and expansive, towering up above
the beach like a sentinel of glory.
It is a culmination of three types- sycamore, banyan and
eucalyptus. Somehow I know this by simple observation.
The most startling thing is not the sudden appearance of the
tree, but the tiny monkeys which are swinging in its branches.
They are silver and glittering- tiny monkeys with no voice, hundreds
of them in the tree above me. Fluid and
active but utterly silent. Completely at home but vocally suppressed.
Devoid of sound.
I blink up at them and they blink back at me, darting back
and forth among the leaves.
They have no capacity to speak.
I gesture an invitation for them to come closer and several
of them crawl into my lap like children.
Together we wait for the quiet of the evening to dwell together
in restful sleep.
I sit beneath this sea of undulating discord here beneath a
great and wide three-type tree. I am in surrender to an abiding obedience here
in the place of margin.
I anticipate dusk, when all the wild monkeys will settle
into sleep, here in the massive tree above my head.
I curl up with my silver monkey children and we are shrouded
in the evening shade of the great tree as we watch the shades of red and gold
playing out over the horizon.
A great grey wolf comes from behind the tree and sits down
at my right, in the small space between myself and the trunk.
A large and swift owl flies down from the sky and lands on a
low-lying branch above my left shoulder.
The monkeys point and swing.
Comforted with the owl’s wisdom that it is time to rest, and
protected by the presence of the strong wolf, I close my eyes and feel the last
of the sun’s rays sink into my skin as it drops below the horizon.
The only sound is that of the waves- all creatures are
silent, myself included.
As I sleep, my mind becomes receptive to hope, faith, love,
joy, peace and creative purpose- these are the tools I will require for the
journey ahead. I had none of these within the beautiful ice cave- they are new
and welcome here in this place. The Artist of my journey enables me to receive them
here in the margin, here where I am poised to learn, adapt and grow.
It is best to attain
my gifts here and now, before I go on.
I wake with the sun, and the first thing I notice is that
the ice cave is frozen completely over- salty waves lap against it as though it
were solid and immovable rock.
The next thing I notice is that the tree is gone without a
trace- and so are my silent animal friends.
I look about me, taking in the eternal sea and the endless
stretch of beach. I see a pile of rocks which form a kind of ragged climbing
staircase up to the clifftops above.
I would rather not make the climb, as I am discouraged by
the effort it would require. But restless crustaceans come out of the sand to tickle
around my bare feet.
Compelled by a hasty urgency, the past pushes until the future
pulls- I make the climb. I discard the heavy winter coat which is no longer
necessary and no longer serves me.
When I come to the top of the cliff after a difficult climb,
I stand on the edge of a vast and massive plain.
A great forest of the same strange tree which I encountered
below now stretches out before me- and the entire forest of these trees houses
hundreds of the same tiny silver glittering monkeys- silent and swinging and
watching and waiting.
The trees undulate with the movement of the noiseless
creatures, each one with a story to tell, each one suppressed by a voice made
obsolete.
I walk beneath these trees, and I am in awe of the vast
number of them.
So many memories- the margin makes this discovery possible.
These silent voices of discord are greatest in the margin
because all else is quiet.
Some cries are for purpose, meaning, and definition.
Others cry for love, affection, self-care, recognition.
Some of them just want to belong- security and protection
are their basest need.
Some of these swinging beings demand sugar, sweets, breads,
treats.
Some desire to sleep in peace, but they cannot be still
because they have no voice to ask for permission.
They are all children of the past and present, and they are
all part of my complete being- I do not wish them to leave because they are a
part of me.
I find that my wolf and my owl guide have joined me once
again, and I am comforted by Wisdom and protected by Strength.
The journey is mysterious indeed- the abstract nature of the
margin place is full of curious mystery.
When I come upon the foot of a mountain, this is when I know
the final trial begins…
~*~
I look up and up and up- I cannot see the top.
This is discouragement.
This is the place
where your self-awareness has not met your capacity to succeed, and so it seems
an impossible climb.
But here between the rocks and soil and hard-packed dirt are
signs of a deep root system- at the top of this mountain must be a great tree,
greater than all these others, which has dug its roots deep down into the depths
of this mountain.
At first I am too weary to climb- I have journeyed a long
way since I left the ice cave. From a cavern of frozen dreams to an eternal
stretching sea, up a craggled cliff to the swinging forest of silent discord,
and now an impossible height of root systems and hard granite.
But the wise owl and the strong wolf which have followed me
this far slinks back into the forest and disappears, and then I hear the first
sound since the crashing of the waves- the cry of an eagle.
It swoops down from the mountaintop, from the place above
where I cannot see, and it gives a call to action which energizes my being as
it glides away towards the sea.
I put my hand against the side of the mountain, find my
footing and take the first step- up and up, climbing up with all my strength.
When my hands become tired I find a small ledge upon which
to rest. There are some fissures in the mountainside which let out icy cool
air- I realize a tunnel system must connect the internal places of this
mountain to the icy cavern I left behind. I am thankful for the cooling
ministrations of the past.
I feel too tired to continue the climb, and as I gaze out at
the tops of the trees towards the sea beyond, I feel some of the roots moving
to touch my hands where they rest upon the ground. They are energizing, giving
life through their contact against my skin.
I wonder at the power of these tree roots, and find myself refreshed
to continue the climb.
The hours feel like years and the days feel like an eternity,
but finally, after reaching out countless times to receive life-giving strength
from the roots, I reach the top.
Pulling myself up with a final gasp of victory, I catch my
breath and then stand before that which awaits me here at the top.
There is nothing.
A dirt plateau with no green thing in sight.
Nothing.
I walk towards the middle, and I wonder why the margin is
empty after all- it makes no sense.
Standing there in the center of the
mountaintop, I raise my eyes up to heaven and wonder out loud,
“Where does my help
come from?”
And the cry of the eagle answers my call, as it comes
towards me back from the sea, with three small fish in its beak. With a flurry
of powerful feathers it comes to land at my feet and crys again, ear-splitting
and awe-inspiring.
Swallowing its catch with three swift gulps, it eyes me
closely, cocks its head and then opens its expansive wings of impressive girth.
In a rhythm of music and drums the eagle beats its wings against the ground
without lifting up, stirring up dust all around me, its feathers whisking rapidly
against my feet.
And the same trembling which I felt beside me in the sand when
I was back on the seashore, it begins again directly beneath me.
Swiftly as the eagle which now lifts off and flies upwards,
the roots of the mountain are drawn up into my being through my bare feet. I
raise my arms and they become branches tall and towering- this is the biggest
tree on the entire island, dwarfing the forest in size and stature.
I have become grounded in the earth- but I am free in
spirit.
Because just as the eagle climbs higher in the sky, so I
feel myself rising up above my branches to the air above, and I am soaring in
spirit with a freedom I never knew was possible.
And I see that in my branches are silent shining silver
monkeys just like the thousands I have already passed. And as my spirit flies
among them, they receive a voice for the very first time. And they yell out
over the forest below, and the thousands of voices shout back in celebration.
I go back to visit the entrance to the ice cave and I find
that it has melted open again- the insides drip with honest imperfection.
I return back to my trunk and then the wolf and the owl come
to join me. They howl and hoot as they join the revelry of the Kingdom which has
finally been healed within me.
All beings in this place are peaceful and happy, free at
last.
Our voices sing praises to the King until dusk, when all is
tranquil and at ease.
And tears come to my eyes as I thank the Author of my journey
for leading me here.
Because the margin place is a call to freedom- it is here
that you will give voices to the things inside which you never had time to
address. It is here that you will do the deep
inner work which requires introspection, forgiveness, curiosity and trust.
It is here that the Author of our journey can inspire an
adventure that brings freedom and gives voice to our entire being.
It is with gratitude that I have journeyed here today- I
hope to come again, many more times.
It is a sacred place, this margin space. God does His best
work within us when we are still and open and give ourselves permission.
And I write this all down
because I have learned that when I don’t practice creativity I become
spiritually silent.
And so because of your encouragement, dear friends, I have
been able to give myself permission to not only stand in the margin, but to be
fully present in it, both mind, body and spirit, and to learn from the lessons
the margin has to offer.
Here in the margin the
only plan is Christlikeness- numerous victories and countless failures are in
store for those who journey here.
I know the margin place. It is vulnerable and exposed, open to healing.
I thought it would
breed nightmarish things, and so I was afraid. But I found that it produced a
beauty and creativity that was all its own, and so I am grateful.
May all beings be peaceful and happy, and may the Author of
our journey part the waters of our discord and lead us through to a place where
we can become securely grounded in Him so that our spirits can fly free and
heal our silent sufferings.
Amen and amen.
Rebecca
~*~
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