Practicing the PAUSE

Practicing the PAUSE!!!

The famous French philosopher Blaise Pascal wrote that - “All the unhappiness of men arises from the single fact that they cannot stay quietly in their own room,” Well, that isn’t me. With today’s frenetically fast paced world I find it as an opportunity to put a halt to everything and surprise myself with a PAUSE, and this quote by Pascal amazes me that this PAUSE was equally delighting in the 17th century when Pascal first made that observation.

PAUSE is when there comes a moment everything within me resists motion. I love my life and the precious people in it. Yet, suddenly, the very intimacy I cherish feels like a burden I can no longer carry. I want to see myself as a person who is competent and sturdy and kind. And then I am unable to be any of these things.

I just can’t plan one more balanced dinner or sit at the table and have one more meaningful conversation with my mom. I can’t anticipate or meet one more need or set one more thing to rights. All I want is to sleep alone on my messy bed with not a streak light peaking into my room and wake up in silence and let things go their own way. I want to take a vacation from worrying and fretting and fixing, have breakfast at ten and skip lunch and eat mushroom soup from the serving bowl for dinner, with my painting brush propped in front of me. I want to take a walk at my own pace right when clock strikes 12 am.

A meaning PAUUUUUUSEEE!! Yes it is!!

And then!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I long for a conversation in which I only have to listen to the small quiet voice inside me, a voice that speaks without words. Can you ever imagine what a relief it would be to spend a whole day without talking? I wonder how relaxing it would be to not having to clean or wash or fold anything, without applying makeup, without good cheer, without a to-do list, without getting into your office cab, without reaching for your wallet or your phone beeps.

I wonder if anyone else hits this wall, the wall of too much. The hard, unforgiving place of feeling crowded and tired and overwhelmed; of knowing that I simply cannot accomplish all that needs to be done, or make good on all the promises I had made to others. Or live up to the expectations I had set for myself. From where the dark quiet cave of aloneness beckons and I start imaging my PAUSE and begin to crave for it. 

From there I only try to think for a place where I might go, just for a little while, to privately fall apart and put myself back together again, without causing anyone I love too much fuss or inconvenience. A sinking feeling that takes me to a secret visit to a cabin, where I undo some plans, cancel some, make a mug of tea to leave behind, unpack and rack my clothes again, watch an old daddy-daughter movie, throw some things into my bag and elude. At the market I’ve never been to before, where the items in my plastic basket would tell the whole story: a jar of Mayonnaise, a dozen Bananas, a tray of eggs, some cans of cranberry juice, dark chocolates and few Cadbury Silks. The right choice of food of a person who is not intending to feed anyone else.

And then!!! This happens; with all that you have you arrive at dusk in a downpour and lug your things up the twisty path, a path unknown. Your door is too sticky but unlocked, like that of a magic place in a fairy tale. Everything you brought with you is soaked but then it doesn’t matter at all. This sudden rain has washed away some outer layer of you, a layer you were ready to shed anyway. Arriving drenched, with your hair almost plastered to your head and your feet squishing in your sandals, is all a feeling like that of a BEGINNING where you are inhabiting your body in a different way — curious and raw, defenseless and hopeful.

Inside, the damp, musky scent of wet mud and wood, the old memories, the scorching summers past, and gives rise to some sharp cherished memories: at a paid homestay in a hilltop, with the familiar textures of leisurely afternoons spent reading and dozing under old luxurious quilts while the mountain breeze lapped the coniferous tree tops. PAUSE it is, at your home territory. The rain pounds the roof; you open windows, put clothes on the shelf, line up your wet shirt and shoes. As darkness falls you feel lighter. Peaceful. Better.

In the morning, without any sort of plan, you walk up the road, going nowhere. Focus on today, you remind yourself. All is well, you say, to no one. And it is. With every step you are clearing a space, coming closer to a self you almost forgot you knew. The good news is, THAT SELF HASN’T ABANDONED YOU. 

 She has been here all along, waiting patiently for you to turn away from all your busy comings and goings, to recognize her, greet her, and welcome her home. The sun is shining and you are sweating and your legs are moving. You listen to the sounds of a summer day. Birds chirping cluttered in the trees. Further on, from a shed on a mountain top: you hear the sounds of an orchestra tuning up for rehearsal. A solo flute traveling up and down the scales. The breeze rustling leaves in the dense canopy of maples overhead. A lawnmower churning back and forth across an expanse of green. The drone of bees in a jumbled roadside garden, colorful as a piñata. Everything has its wonders. You are here to pay attention.

Alone, your life begins to feel like a choice again. You find yourself drawn into harmony with the sweet, easy flow of the day, unfolding according to its own rhythm. Slowly, something that was stuck deep inside begins to move. You ride the gentle currents of sadness, regret, joy, longing and acceptance. Surprised by tears, you lift your face to the sky and allow the sun to dry them. There is the necessary, satisfying work of serving others in all the places where you are loved and needed. But there is also this: the soul’s work, which you ignore at your peril. And so, for today, anyway, you commit yourself to it fully: The journey inward to find your own truth. The stillness of your mind behind the noise of your doing. The willingness to see the beauty inside yourself, and to honor that. You are a little rusty and awkward in your quest. The privilege of PAUSE is also a skill that requires practice.

At the far end of a field, a granite bench awaits under the shade of a tree. The words “Sit a while” are in engraved across the top. You do. And you take in the view, the gentle, slumbering hills; the drifting veil of clouds. This, too, is a kind of compassion — resting, listening, waiting in the silence of your heart to feel the next step. There is a new energy moving in you. A reverence, You can do this. You can dive down, naked, into the sacred quiet. You can learn to be at ease here. To be grateful for these hidden treasures. In this secret, spacious place, you remember something beyond the moment, a strength on which to build.

In a little while, you will walk the long road back. C

The grace of God means something like:

You might never have been, but you are. Here is your life. Here is the world.

Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. I am with you.

                                                                                                                         — Frederick Buechner