Always a way
On vision, and making it real in the world.
This story starts out bush and ends at the ocean.
Recently I had to have a meeting with the universe about where I am and where I’m headed. I chose ‘out bush’ as the meeting platform (a refreshing change from Zoom). There were connection issues at first but eventually amazing picture quality. A vision emerged. Of my song-smithery and conversation encouraging people along their adventure of a lifetime.
But, rather than bang on about my particular vision, I want to explore the universals of vision. Many of us feel called toward something. We may be clear on what that is. A new way of life. A new way of relating. A marriage. A separation. A new endeavour. Or, it may be murky, part formed, hard to see. I’m reminded of the fuzzy ultra sound image of my daughter in the womb. “Oh she’s beautiful,” said my wife and I nodded eagerly, half seeing, yearning for clarity through the low resolution, and then suddenly my daughter, the embryo, assembled herself into view. Or, my sight made sense of the data I’d been looking at all along.
To see the vision, the calling, clearly, we may need to get away. It’s hard to see what matters most in the midst of everyday life where it seems that everything matters to everyone all the time. It's easy to get lost. You need to get away. I went out bush. Some of us are fortunate to be in circumstances that favour the occasional retreat. Others have conditions highly unfavourable for taking time for personal reflection. But many who can, tell themselves they can’t. It feels hard. Impractical, selfish.
“Daddy’s going to go out bush for a week.”
“Yay, I’m coming too!”
“No sweetie, Daddy’s got to go on his own.”
“But why!”
“Well, sometimes parents need time away.”
“But children can come with them!”
“Well darling, it’s like this; whilst children are of course beautiful souls who we love, they are also self-centred little monsters who drive their parents crazy, and so, if parents don’t get to step out of their parenting role, and their work role, to connect with their soul, their soul withers and dies and they end up hooked on opioids and it’s just no fun for anyone.”
Hmn. Okay, so the dialogue needs workshopping before you’d say it to your family out loud but, it’s somewhere in the territory, right?
When we get away, for a week in nature, or a morning at the park, or hell, 30 minutes in a shaft of light from an open window with some breeze on skin, what happens?
Usually a lot of noise. The noise of the outside world that you escaped is replaced by the noise of the inside world. The storm of cares and concerns. Then, maybe, pockets of peace. A feeling. A longing. A surprise. Perhaps it’s a new dream. Perhaps it’s an old one that you thought was burnt out; a fireplace of ashes, but look- those embers glow still. The vision comes in a whisper. Or a loud cry. Then usually, more noise. The excitement of feeling the dream. The ‘here-we-go-again’ questioning of the merit of the dream. The guilt at not having given it more energy before. The fear that you’ve missed the boat. The deep fear that it just may be possible. The joy of seeing a clear shape take form. The “Oooooh S#@t am I really up for this?” And, underneath all that, the vision, bubbling away beyond all that commentary.
Where does it come from? Who knows? A tapestry of memories, inspirations, values, role models. There’s nothing new under the sun. It’s surely built on the blueprints of ancestral vision. Yet, strangely, at the same time, it’s unique to you. No one has ever been on this particular path. It doesn’t exist yet. But it feels like it does. Sometimes you can almost taste it. And you know it matters. And not just to you. Theologian Frederick Buechner refers to it as “the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” A possibility of service to someone, somewhere.
Now, back from the bush, at the oceanside, I return from the liminal space of vision, back to reality. The clarity and enlivening force of the vision comes and goes. Am I up for it? Will it be worth it? If it’s truly my path then it’s untrodden and somewhat unknown. It will be a lonely journey in some ways. I’ll need help from others. I’ll have to reach out. Periods of flow and creative joy. Periods of deeply unsettling confusion. Sometimes these two states strobe in a dreamlike flicker.
I wonder how life is unfolding for you, dear reader. I offer you this message (and all my work) in the hope it may give solace, encouragement and clarity on the wonderful (and sometimes heartbreaking) human journey.
Part of my vision is two new albums, one of them notably my first ever songs for piano. Here’s the first verse of one that’s emerging, titled ‘Always a way.’ You can see a prototype rendition on guitar here.
Always a way
Things rarely go to plan
Yet plan we must
Find your lode star
Set off in trust
You built a boat of drift wood
You travel on the tide
Between the ocean of adventure
And the Island where you hide
You’re looking for a new land
You hope to prevail
You can’t control the wind
But you can adjust your sails…
Chorus:
When the vision you seek
Seems out of reach
Just know some day
Your boat will sail
Into the bay
There’s always a way.