We Are Responsible for the Clouds

I really do try to pay attention. Fortunately, most of us recognize the difference between getting it right and getting it wrong. On the continuum of choices, we probably linger somewhere around the neutral zone—sometimes knocking home runs and other times striking out, out, out. We are rewarded here and pay the price there. And when we give the short change to anyone, it is usually to ourselves. The illusive someone who expects something from us usually turns out to be the person in the mirror. We place limits on ourselves out of some kind of habit we’ve learned along the way. And as I was reminded yesterday, life is hard work. Yes, I was paying attention—at breakfast, in worship, in the afternoon perched on the landing of a saloon in an old coal mining town striving to be an artist mecca, and later in the day, sitting on the living room floor at a friend’s house, watching a movie about love served up and withheld. I expected to be laughing. Instead, I felt painful embarrassment, for the most part.

I keep forgetting that it’s okay to ask for what I want. Doing so is not about presumption or greed—at least, not by definition. We spend a lot of time looking, and a lot of time making excuses, but really, how much time do we spend asking and then genuinely expecting. All of this is, of course, presupposes that we have undertaken some legitimate process of discernment. Life is hard work.

Recently, I was reminded by the leader of a group in which I participate each Thursday of one of those things that I want to see on a billboard. It’s too much text to go on a bumper sticker or a t-shirt or the imaginary tattoos I wear on my forearms. “The good news is we are each responsible for our life and how we create our reality, what we think, where we put our attention, our feelings.” Conversely, “The bad news is we are each responsible for our life and how we create our reality, what we think, where we put our attention, our feelings.” I don’t want to confuse this with the cavalier pap offered up by those who seem to abound in plenty—at least material plenty—to those who are instead characterized by their lack—choices, choices, it’s all about choices. No, it’s not simply about choices. Other factors are at work in our lives. Often the choices we make are made in the heat of some moment, when we have to think on our feet—not an easy task for some of us, at least some of the time. I guess there must be a choice somewhere in there, even as we consider that old dilemma made adage, “when you’re up to your neck in alligators, it’s hard to remember that the original objective was to drain the swamp.” Frankly, who enjoys being reminded that there was a better way, even when we know it’s for our own good?

I’ve spent a lot of time second guessing myself, regretting choices—and way too much time in the swamp because I just wasn’t ready to get out, yet, for some reason that was unclear at the time. The wise-from-living leader of our group reminded me the other day that many of us have a habit of believing that we don’t deserve the good that comes our way. Where do we learn this? Who would have taught us something so destructive? What hard, toll exacting life lessons would cause us to sabotage that which seeks only to flourish and nurture?

Last Saturday, Steve and I stood on a mesa in the Jemez Mountains overlooking a vast valley, where pinon pine is repopulating itself. A planned burn grew out of control nine years ago. It made the national news for days. A young man of Santa Clara heritage, mingled with German from his maternal grandfather, was our guide through the remnants of dwellings dating to the 12th -16th century. He spoke eloquently of the history of the pueblo people, occasionally calling on his ancestral native Tewa language. His view of his world, our world, was as expansive and real and solid as the 360 degrees where we stood. “We are responsible for the clouds,” he said. Drought had driven his people to the valley below four centuries past—by their belief because of improper behavior on their part. “We are each responsible for our life and how we create our reality, what we think, where we put our attention, our feelings,” she reminded me. God, spare me from starving in the midst of plenty.

“I release this prayer into the Divine Law knowing it is already so. I let go of all human attachment of what it should look like. I surrender, I allow and I let God. And so it is. Namaste.”

We Are Responsible for the Clouds—Santa Fe New Mexico (June 1, 2009)
R. Harold Hollis