Balancing The Forces Of Creation and Destruction
It can be an overwhelming challenge, whether we are on the inner journey of spirit or not, to find that point of balance between what we perceive as creative in the world and what we see as destructive to that world. It is all too easy to take the constant change of creative forces about us as a given and be content with the resulting harmony, and it is something that we all do when things are going well. In that state it is easy for the forces of destruction to knock us off that pedestal and into the rubble of regrets and resentment. Just when things were going so well this has to happen, we think. We know we can cope, picking ourselves up and dusting ourselves off, but we are annoyed at the intrusion, whether personal, political or environmental. We are debilitated by tragedy, whether intimate or international, sometimes taking years to recover.
Many assume that shit happens as a part of the game of life, others assume god works in mysterious ways and some seek that point of balance between pleasure and pain, joy and suffering, fulfilment and disappointment. The point of serene acceptance, the place of submission to that ongoing, unending process of whatever happens happens. We look to the seasons, – the decay of autumn, the sleep of winter, the regeneration of spring, the bounty of summer, – as a model we’d like to emulate. And sometimes we succeed in that, and sometimes we fall short and feel frustrated, angry and generally disenchanted.
When we recover, our balance, our sense of humour, our joy in the moment, we can move on. Some fall into depression and addiction, but that too is part of a cycle, perhaps one exceeding the timeline of one incarnation. And for those of us on the inner journey, that perception becomes the norm. We know from our meditations and readings that the patterns of past lives feed into the present, presenting us with surprising pleasures and shocking challenges. We understand but yet we struggle. Ambitions and rivalries dog us daily. Fears and doubts niggle. Yet we paddle our canoe through choppy waters to the picnic on the island.
And when we are there, enjoying our snacks and drinks, listening to the music of the wind in the trees and the splash of the waves, we know it was worth it. At least that’s what we tell ourselves, in this world or the next. Knowing, of course, that the next was also the one before.