|The Radiant Question|
I was driving south on Hwy 101 when I saw a bundle of packing boxes in the middle of the freeway. My first thought was, "I need those boxes for my move." I've been spiraling around the possibility of moving to the central coast. I love the coast ... I miss the beauty, temperate climate and activity. Of course, I also love the foothills, my house and my friends so, once again, I'm caught in a spiral of indecision with clarity about what to do hovering like a cloud just off the coast.
My third thought ... the second one was how to turn around and get back to that free bundle of moving supplies ... was, "That's stupid. I could get killed trying to pick up a $20 bundle of boxes." It's not every day you see a neatly bound packet of boxes in the middle of the road so I began to wonder if it was a message ... a message that basically blinked "DANGER" in neon lights.
OK, so maybe I'm not supposed to move. It's not the first warning signal I've gotten. A few weeks ago, I was driving over to the coast on a road that sprinkles 55-mph zones along the way. I missed one of the signs and, sure enough, got a speeding ticket. Slow down. It was a message I didn't want to hear so I plowed forward looking for a place to live, put two offers in on places and neither was accepted. Slow down.
So, I put the move on the back burner until last week when one of the places I made an offer on reduced the asking price and I thought maybe it was a sign. So off to the coast again, looking at a few more places ... and getting nowhere ... again. I can't find a place to live that makes sense financially ... and the thought of moving again makes ice crystals slide down my spine.
Sometimes the Universe seems to playing flirtatious games ... beckoning me hither, showing me some of the wonders to behold and then coyly purring, "Not now." If I were designing the Universe, I'd make the message system a whole lot clearer. Of course, the problem could be in the receiver rather than the sender ... but that thought would be way too adult.
It all reminds me of Rilke: (again)
I want to beg you, as much as I can, dear friend, to be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books written in a very foreign tongue.
Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything.
Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.
Did Rilke have any idea of the patience this passage requires?