I've finished Eat, Pray, Love and lump of something emotional welled in my throat. I finished the book while sitting in the common area of the writing space and I refused to cry in front of complete strangers. I had just had a coughing fit moments early because of choking on my own spit. How would weeping look? They'd think me a mess.
How do I sum this all up?
What I think is the "wise me" says: "Put the book down. Live your life. The story's over. Liz has given you what she can. Now, go, live your life. God has given you clues. Go, follow them. Use them."
The "scared child me" whimpers and still looks down at the book, hoping for more magic - sort of like that gentle, warm, embracing and loving hug our moms gave us (or, at least, ought to have given us) before sending us out into the big, scary world. We, as children, could venture forth, knowing that, no matter where we go, we will always be loved and cared for.
The one last gift Liz gives is this: "The Zen Buddhists believe . . . an oak tree is brought into creation by two forces at the same time. Obviously, there is the acorn from which it all begins . . . But only a few recognize that there is another force operating here as well - the future tree itself . . ." p 329
"I think of everything I endured before getting here and wonder if it was me - I mean, this happy and balanced me, who is now dozing on the deck of this small Indonesian fishing boat - who pulled the other, younger, more confused and more struggling me forward during all those hard years. The younger me was the acorn full of potential, but it was the older me, the already existing oak, who was saying the whole time: 'YES - grow! Change! Evoke! Come out and meet me here, where I already exist in wholeness and maturity! I need you to grow into me!" p 329 - 330
What would we say to our younger selves if given the chance? What would our future selves, what DO our future selves say to us, if only we'd listen?
I figured out the feeling, the lump of something in my throat: the good-bye feeling, the end-of-an-adventure feeling. Whatever that feeling is when we've read a really good book, gotten to know and love the characters and then, say good-bye. We could go back and read it again, but we know, deep down, the sense of discovery, the sense of meeting and growing to love would never exist in the same way. We'd just be reading a history. So, we sadly say good-bye, wash back on to the shore of reality, our bodies still warm and humming from the adventurous embrace of the story, and we meet the day.
"Yet, what keeps me from dissolving right now into a complete fairy-tale shimmer is this solid truth, a truth which has veritably built my bones over the last few years - I was not rescued by a prince; I was the administrator of my own rescue"
So, God will send us guides, but he will never send us rescuers.
Be the administrator of your own rescue and I'll be the administrator of mine.
And, I'll meet you on the hill top where hallowed souls shine.
Scoffers will scoff. Non-believers will weep.
But, you and I, my friend, will take the heavenly leap.
And, if we shall fall, God will catch us and land us on the moon.
For we have shot for the stars and sang a great lover's tune.
Don't be afraid. God has given us wings.
Sing out your mighty song, for God gave us voices to sing.
Laugh and cry, crawl and scrape, but never weep in fear.
For dawn is coming, the lights are on and a loving God is near.
So, let's gather up and take a leap, a leap of hope and faith.
For a life lived so adventurously, is a life not gone to waste.
Thank you, Liz. I love you as much as an absolute, complete stranger can love another.
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