“Use the things of the world as nature needs them, but not with excessive attachment. For it would be very displeasing to God if you were to set your heart on something of less value than yourself…..People become like what they love.”
~Catherine of Siena
Over the past week I have been on vacation. I have been traveling throughout the southeastern part of the country from Ohio to Georgia and back. It was a road trip with my mother that has been much anticipated. As I was preparing to leave for this respite, I was also acutely aware of the economic turmoil that has gripped our nation and the great divisions that have played themselves out in angry sound bites. Like most people, I was drawn into watching and listening as a lack of civility was being slung back and forth. It often felt like a very helpless place to be.
So, while I hoped it wasn’t an act of burying my head in the sand, I looked forward to unplugging for a week of vacation, of turning off the constant sources of information that can become my daily food. Loading up the car to head south, I looked forward to conversation that would be filled with mostly reminiscences of family times, of what seems like simpler times. Settling in to the ten hour drive to Georgia from my small hometown in southern Ohio, I let go of the anxieties that could push and pull at my psyche and my spirit. It felt very good to set this intention.
As we made our way through West Virginia, I was once again startled by the beauty of this often undervalued state. The unfolding mountain ranges, filled to capacity with hardwood trees that created a blanket of rippling greens, took my breath away. As we continued to drive we seemed to free fall into the mountains of North Carolina, again, so stupendous with trees that, come fall, will create a patchwork of autumn hues that will rival the quilts made famous by the artisans of the area. Finally we drove into Georgia and through the Low Country as it takes on a mysterious palette of waving grasses and waters interrupted by long, wooden walkways that cause people to look like miraculous walkers-on-water. Our destination of Savannah seemed to open its arms with a full southern welcome of heat, humidity and the slow movements of people who have long moved through such temperatures and no longer fight the elements.
Along the drive we rarely listened to the radio and only tuned into television a few times. What I found was that I had slowly allowed what my eyes had pulled in……the beauty of trees ancient and new, the assurance of mountains and water, the sweet,welcoming dispositions of the people we encountered……to act as a balm. These gifts of Creation had calmed and healed some place in me. I know no other way to explain it.
Catherine of Siena was a wise woman who also lived in troubled times. (And then again, which ‘times’ know no trouble?) The words she writes about ‘excessive attachment’ remind me of the wisdom we often associate with our Buddhist brothers and sisters. They encourage an ability to connect with what is truly of value, allowing our lives to reflect a depth that cannot be bounced around by the whims of a fragile, often fickle, world. At the same time the words caution against trying to hold too tightly to anyone or anything in an effort to believe ourselves more in control than is ever possible.
Holding ourselves and our world gently, I have found, can result in living a more faithful, less anxious life. I don’t know about you, but it is certainly my hope that I might become more like ‘what I love’. Steadfast as the mountains. Nimble as the moving waters. Able to bend and reflect the beauty of changing seasons as the trees do. Responsive to and welcoming of the rhythm of the many climates we are blessed to experience. These are some of the gifts of both Creator and Creation which I hope will continue to inform and shape who I become in the face of both troubled and terrific times.
As this vacation draws to a quiet close, I pray I can continue to be bathed in the lessons of the landscape that has offered me its grace. When the lack of civility that seems to be our daily bread becomes too much to stomach, may I remember: Strong mountains. Tall trees. Bridges that connect. Water that holds wondrous life. And faces that register welcome and hospitality. A slower pace that allows time to revel in it all.
How about you? What do you love? How do you hope to become more like what you love?