We Lose Sight of it in Small Towns

We lose sight of it in small towns.
In the forest it is clear
What tension grips the heartwood
As bustling the leaves
And desperately the roots reach out—
To live,
	To take,
		To change.

What difference it would make
If I could live half so ardently
As once I loved you.

This is one of my earliest poems. It called out to me for selection today, so I would like to reflect on it briefly.

I am preparing myself to appear tomorrow as a guest on an episode of a new podcast called “Propaganda of Truth,” in which we will delve deeply into my writing, comparing and constrasting it with the hosts’ own thinking. I am excited for the conversation but also nervous, as exposing my innermost ideas and hard work to scrutiny is daunting (yes, it will be friendly scrutiny—but also public!).

I have also been getting back into music. I have taken up the guitar again for the first time in many years. These creative projects, on top of my research, have kept me happily busy. As such, it has been a while since my last post.

With all that I have going on, I do indeed find myself living “ardently.” I find myself trying new things and focusing on my improvement, rather than on results. I have also found like-minded people in these podcast hosts and a couple others who have messaged me about my writing.

None of this would be possible without the support of my wife, Catherine, who has continued loving me at every step along the way, from euphoric delusions and psychosis, through months of crushing depression and years of anxiety, and finally to my present stability.

This poem was written in reflection on a past relationship. It was lamenting a lack of purpose, a lack of drive, in the face of lost love. It finds me today in the opposite situation: full of love, full of hope, and with faith in the fundamental okayness of mystery.

What does it mean to have “faith in the fundamental okayness of mystery”? Is it something that can be taught, or something that can be held onto? In other words, what is the secret to sustaining this faith?

The unfortunate answer is that these questions miss the point. This faith is not a property that can be clung to: it is a process of action. It is to converse with the rest of reality. It is knowing that the boundary between yourself and the rest of the world is not fixed; you are not wholly separate from the rest of reality. The separation is more like that between a beach and the sea: In the crashing waves there is sand, and in the sand of the shore there is water; and in between there is contant motion—give and take, mutual shaping.

To participate in this conversation requires one to remain attuned to the mystery of the present moment. A sense of fundamental okayness of this mystery arises when one realizes that inner and outer are indeed one process, one Self in a process of becoming. (This is where words become limiting. Consider these words, therefore, to be like a finger pointing at the moon, rather than the moon itself.)

Anyway, it has been quite a journey! I’m excited to share more of it with all of you.