Upon reflection this morning I was getting the sense the root of my trouble is a feeling of inadequacy. That feeling of a lack of value leads to despondency and lack of trust, anxiety, fear. Then I make trivial decisions to ameliorate the pain; I self-medicate, I numb. As I dug a little further asking God, what could be the resolution, I got the sense that I pretty much exist as an island. And that the resolution for me is going to involve learning to do life with others, and not to or at, or from above others.
A search on my existing as a "clod", turned up a poem by John Donne, a man I learned of from Phillip Yancey in his book, Soul Survivor (note: searching the connection on these two turns up some work I may want to look into in the future). It always took me how ordinary his struggles were, and yet how he found the profound. He became ill and near to death, and struggled with his faith, and he overcame, got better, and led a closer walk to God. As I read on him a little, he has an Augustine-type story, where he was a worldly fellow, finally coming to grips with the life of faith and experienced hardship (passing of the wife he loved while she was giving birth to their 12th child; aforementioned sickness nearing death). I'd be curious to read more about his "with" life comparing with his "solo" heroism. And who was he to his companions the metaphysical poets in the "school of poetry"?
'No Man is an Island'No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. Olde English Version No man is an Iland, intire of itselfe; every man is a peece of the Continent, a part of the maine; if a Clod bee washed away by the Sea, Europe is the lesse, as well as if a Promontorie were, as well as if a Manor of thy friends or of thine owne were; any mans death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankinde; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee. MEDITATION XVII Devotions upon Emergent Occasions John Donne https://web.cs.dal.ca/~johnston/poetry/island.html |
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