Reflections on Wisdom Sits in Places by Keith H. Basso
Often, the sacredness of these place-worlds is not recognized until after repeated experience with them. It takes great faith to act with reverence even when one's surrounding seem not to merit such actions. We must beleive that simple tasks, when repeated in an intentional, ceremonial fashion, can hallow even the the most derelect environments. This is the process we refer to when we cite the proverbs that "it takes love to make a house a home." or that "it's what inside that counts."
One such place from which I gleaned wisdom as a youth was the screened back porch of my Indiana home. It was a small space, perhaps 20 by 8 square feet. Inside it sat a dingy, green and white striped porch swing, with white metal sides and a matching striped awning overhead. If anyone else were to rock on this swing, they might have been bothered by the unattractive view it presented, the constant droning chorus of cicadas, or the oppressive summer heat. But for 17-year-old Bethany, this was a cherished retreat. I didn’t mind the humidity since, being slight for my age, I was often chilly. I’d only recently moved from California to the Midwest and though the perpetual hissing of insects initially startled me, it soon became familiar, even soothing to my ears. It was an auditory reminder of my connection to the teeming life which surrounded me. And as for the view, its eye-sore of a dead tree was home to a family of flicker woodpeckers which I loved to observe.
It was here that I delved into a passion for writing and discovered that I had a voice far stronger and -- at times-- more ferocious than I'd ever realized. It was here that I found solace from the thousand unanswered questions that characterized my youth.
And it is there that I continue to return to in my mind, seeking the wisdom that once eluded me.
One such place from which I gleaned wisdom as a youth was the screened back porch of my Indiana home. It was a small space, perhaps 20 by 8 square feet. Inside it sat a dingy, green and white striped porch swing, with white metal sides and a matching striped awning overhead. If anyone else were to rock on this swing, they might have been bothered by the unattractive view it presented, the constant droning chorus of cicadas, or the oppressive summer heat. But for 17-year-old Bethany, this was a cherished retreat. I didn’t mind the humidity since, being slight for my age, I was often chilly. I’d only recently moved from California to the Midwest and though the perpetual hissing of insects initially startled me, it soon became familiar, even soothing to my ears. It was an auditory reminder of my connection to the teeming life which surrounded me. And as for the view, its eye-sore of a dead tree was home to a family of flicker woodpeckers which I loved to observe.
It was here that I delved into a passion for writing and discovered that I had a voice far stronger and -- at times-- more ferocious than I'd ever realized. It was here that I found solace from the thousand unanswered questions that characterized my youth.
And it is there that I continue to return to in my mind, seeking the wisdom that once eluded me.
Sometimes, I sway comfortably on that porchswing, sipping contentedly from wisdom's glass, enjoying a refreshing reminder of lessons learned. At other times, the porchswing is rocked erratically as I gulp desperately from the pitcher, swallowing harder truths.
Where are the places you go to imbibe wisdom?
Is it in a chapel, visited weekly to partake of sacred emblems? Emblems which to the untrained eye look only like a few scraps of bread and sips of water?
Is it some sacred structure where you perform life-saving work for those you have never met, or have yet to meet? A casual observer may see only well-dressed patrons entering and exiting with suitcases and a few pieces of paper in hand.
Is it a daily retreat, where loved ones gather to refresh and fortify themselves? To the outsider, it may be merely a simple room in some obsure house. But those of us with eyes to see can recognize the space between those four walls as hallowed.
When you enter one of these place-worlds, think of your mind as a cup. Bring it drained and empty in anticipation of receiving. To drink deeply from the wisdom that sits in places is to prepare for a higher, nobler way of life. The Apache refer to it as making one's mind smooth. Acheiving smoothness of mind allows one to weather the difficulties of life, even to foresee dangers and avoid them.
As your mind grows smoother, you may start to recognize more of these place-worlds. You might start to see things which others do not.
If I brought you to that old Indiana home and led you out the back door, you'd have no difficulty seeing that porchswing. But after we'd sat and rocked on it for a while, once we'd spent some time in quiet reverence together, you might not just see the porhswing anymore.
You just might be able to see me.
Is it in a chapel, visited weekly to partake of sacred emblems? Emblems which to the untrained eye look only like a few scraps of bread and sips of water?
Is it some sacred structure where you perform life-saving work for those you have never met, or have yet to meet? A casual observer may see only well-dressed patrons entering and exiting with suitcases and a few pieces of paper in hand.
Is it a daily retreat, where loved ones gather to refresh and fortify themselves? To the outsider, it may be merely a simple room in some obsure house. But those of us with eyes to see can recognize the space between those four walls as hallowed.
When you enter one of these place-worlds, think of your mind as a cup. Bring it drained and empty in anticipation of receiving. To drink deeply from the wisdom that sits in places is to prepare for a higher, nobler way of life. The Apache refer to it as making one's mind smooth. Acheiving smoothness of mind allows one to weather the difficulties of life, even to foresee dangers and avoid them.
As your mind grows smoother, you may start to recognize more of these place-worlds. You might start to see things which others do not.
If I brought you to that old Indiana home and led you out the back door, you'd have no difficulty seeing that porchswing. But after we'd sat and rocked on it for a while, once we'd spent some time in quiet reverence together, you might not just see the porhswing anymore.
You just might be able to see me.
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The joys of life taste sweeter when they're shared. Please share your joy by leaving me a comment. I love to hear your stories-- the joys as well as the sorrows.
Thanks for reading mine!
--- Bethany