Place

"The inner impulse toward conversion, a change of heart, may be muted in a city, where outward change is fast, noisy, ever-present.  But in the small town, in the quiet arena, a refusal to grow (which is one way Gregory of Nyssa defined sin) makes any constructive change impossible." -Kathleen Norris, Dakota

Moving out to St. Francis, SD after spending the last four years in the Bronx has certainly required an openness to conversion.  I have been trying to establish the best way to write about this place and the effect it is already having on me, but it always seems to escape words.  Descriptions fall flat.  It is a place that defies definition.  I have tried on numerous occasions to capture the beauty of a sunset, or a snow covered field in a picture to send to family or friends; to try and convey the vast expanse of sky and horizon that stretches in every direction.  but with responses like "beautiful" or amazing!" I can't help but recognize I am not doing this place justice.  It does not want to be captured in my little picture.  It wants to take hold in my heart, have me paint a picture in my soul of the vastness of the world in front of me, that way I can fall silent before the realization of my smallness. 

In a recent message from a friend, I was finally inspired by her words to tackle the task of pointing a finger at the proverbial moon, for I have found describing the landscape and it's effect on me much the way I have often found the task of describing God - never quite satisfied, and the description never as good as the actual experience of it.   She said: "

"...there's something uniquely beautiful and perhaps spiritual about those skies that last forever in all directions. It's definitely an isolating feeling at times, but in hindsight maybe it's a metaphor of humility - of realizing we're a part of something so much greater than ourselves. or maybe i'm doing the crazy talk."

Crazy talk indeed. Who, in our modern day and age, wants to have to admit that there are things in this world that humble us by the very fact they exist? Things that speak to us on such a deep level about who we really are, about the spiritual reality of our life. Who wants to go to a place that shows so clearly how much is out of our control, how powerful the universe is and how tiny we really are? Who wants to go to a place so big and vast that we can't help but feel isolated and alone? The thing about the Plains is that they are beautiful - breathtakingly so. But with that beauty, for me, there is coupled an extreme discomfort. It is a dangerous place. It is a barren place, one that almost dares you to try and survive in its midst.

I just recently finished ready Dakota, by Kathleen Norris, a book in which she takes the time to give attention and expression to the "spiritual geography" of the Dakota's.  Throughout the book, perhaps because of her own engagement with Benedictine monastic communities, Norris draws the parallel of the Great Plains to the deserts occupied by the early Christian Desert Fathers and Mothers, a place of solitude, a place where one went to encounter God and one' self with no frills, no distractions.  I like this comparison just fine, for it suits my rather bizarre and extreme nature to go out and find the most inhospitable, barren  places imaginable and try to see God, to see life where I could never imagine it to exist.

Moving from one of the biggest cities in the world (which my NY pride certainly would have me place as the Center of the Universe) out to God's Country, as the Plains are sometimes known, has forced a 180 degree turn for my soul.  In times of stress and inner tension and chaos (for college was somewhat of a tumultuous time, spiritually and otherwise - queue dramtic/angsty music), I often would set out into Manhattan alone at late hours for walks through the city.  I would go for hours at a time, walking hundreds of blocks with no end destination, no real purpose other than to try and find some quiet in my soul.  I found myself surrounded by chaos and activity, even at 3am, and somehow, this would allow me to find internal quiet.  Compared to the hustle and bustle of the city, I almost seemed calm (HAH!).  In moments of free time, I often directed my attention outwards - other people, endless events and opportunities, the never-ending circus that is the Big Apple.  There was always so much to see and experience that there couldn't be such thing as boredom.

It wasn't a cure for restlessness though.  And that is a feeling I couldn't shake, or even feel that I ever really engaged with.  I always felt just out of reach to myself, which, probably unsurprisingly, is a disturbing thing for a person to experience (but perhaps not as uncommon as one would like).  I did a lot of work on emotional and mental health in college, something I had never really even fully recognized could pose difficulties for me.  I realize now, all of that was only to further prepare me for this experience out here at the edge of the world.  

There is no external distraction in this place.  When I stop to sit on top of a hill after a long hike, all is still.  There is the occasional lowing of a cow, maybe a bird that will fly off somewhere in the distance.  The wind is constant, ranging from gentle breezes to knock-you-off-your feet intensity.  The clouds move with some real speed, and in a sky so big, it is easy to track their journey.  But those aren't distractions.  Those are simple beauties, those are life in motion - I am the only distraction.  I am the most chaotic and complex thing for miles and miles.  I don't mean complex as a compliment, as in built from many parts with a dazzling intricacy and care (although sometimes I see that is the case as well).  I mean it as in I am filled with tension and inner disturbances, I am never still, I am unable to achieve and enjoy true inner quiet.  I am complicated in a way that disrupts a continuation of the harmony I perceive to be all around me.

"or maybe i'm doing the crazy talk."

Crazy talk indeed. I often wonder which screws are loose that caused me to do something as stupid as move out to a place that constantly holds a mirror in front of my face. I have moved to one of the most isolated and barren places in the country, which is bad enough, but also have been blessed to be placed in a small community of only 3 members - 3 of the most different people I have ever seen inhabit the same space. Talk about a constant mirror. Is there no reprieve, is there no rest?? (All of this only leads me to believe God has an outrageous sense of humor. I am still learning to appreciate it though.)

Something called me out here, though. Something deep in my soul said YES, probably accompanied with some expletives. That's where we need to go. It's time we finally meet, it said to me, for you've been gone for too long.