Lightly child, lightly (v. Aequo animo)

Posted on by Live & Learn

bubbles

I imagine a word, a single word, that would pierce through the hardest of hearts.
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But who am I? No one and everyone…
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Quiet and still. There are so many things I cannot explain.
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Be compassionate. Aequo animo.

~ Marion Blank, Note to Self

Credits:

  • Aqua Animo (latin) \ˌī-ˌkwō-ˈä-ni-ˌmō\ : with even mind :  calmly.
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”
  • Image Source: Thank you Sandy @ Sundog

 

25 thoughts on “Lightly child, lightly (v. Aequo animo)”

  2. Forgiveness – it seems to all emanate from there for me. If one can forgive freely, one can approach the world with compassion. Need to think about this some more, tho. More coffee.

    1. (Note to Self: She’s right [again] Which triggers recollection of all of the following:}

      Left to my own devices, I’m a forgiveness denier— I’ll start to think that there are hurts so deep that nothing can heal them. Time alone won’t necessarily do the trick. Our best thinking isn’t enough, or we would all be fine, instead of in our current condition. A lack of forgiveness is like leprosy of the insides, and left untreated, it can take out tissue, equilibrium, soul, sense of self. I have sometimes considered writing a book called All the People I Still Hate: A Christian Perspective, but readers would recoil. Also, getting older means that without meaning to, you accidentally forgive almost everyone— almost— so the book would not be long.

      ~ Anne Lamott, “Dad.” Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace

      No one can prove that God does or doesn’t exist, but tough acts of forgiveness are pretty convincing for me. It is so not my strong suit, and I naturally prefer the company of people who hold grudges, as long as they are not held against me. Forgiveness is the hardest work we do. When, against all odds, over time, your heart softens toward truly heinous behavior…

      ~ Anne Lamott, “Dad.” Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace

      Forgiving people doesn’t necessarily mean you want to meet them for lunch. It means you try to undo the Velcro hook. Lewis Smedes said it best: “To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.” I wish there’d been a shortcut, but the wound had to be revealed to heal. Lack of forgiveness seemed like a friend, the engine that drove my life, with a hot little motor that was weirdly invigorating. It had helped me survive.

      ~ Anne Lamott, “Dad.” Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace (Penguin Group US. 2014)

      I saw a psychiatrist with a clipboard. She listened, said, “Hmm,” nodding as I spewed it all out— the wrong, the blame, the exhaustion. Hmm. If someone listens, deeply, you’ve been heard, which helps you absorb it, and you can lay it at the feet of the right god. You can forgo the arithmetic of adding up the damage again, lay your Bartleby ledger in your lap, and look up. Looking up is the way out. And Hmm is very close to Omm, which is the sound of the universe. Hmm, she said: good work. I felt as if I had gotten a leg and most of one shoulder out from the bell jar. There was fresh air on my skin. Rumi wrote , “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” In that field, you’re under a wide swath of sky, so the story becomes almost illimitable, instead of two small nutty people with grievances and popguns. You have to leave your crate, though; this will not happen inside your comfort zone. But if you can make a break for that field, you might forget all the whys, the nuance, details, and colors about the story that you’re sure you’ve gotten right, that doom you. So you sacrifice the need to be right, because you have been wronged, and you put down the abacus that has always helped you keep track of things. This jiggles you free from clutch and quiver. You can unfurl your fingers, hold out your palm, openhanded. At some point in the process, I remembered something my vet said years ago when my old dog Sadie was dying. He said, “Most of her is fine, and still loves being here. Very little of her is diseased.” So I looked around for any healthy tissue.

      ~ Anne Lamott, “Dad.” Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace (Penguin Group US. 2014)

      “Not forgiving is like drinking rat poison and then waiting for the rat to die.”

      — Anne Lamott, “Forgiven.” Small Victories: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace

      1. This dialogue has made my day, and it’s only 6:30! Mimi’s perceptive reading and your equally sensitive response (have I mentioned how much I love Anne Lamott?) Seriously, guys, this is breakfast food for the soul….😊

        1. My response got lost in the ether…Annie LaMott- such a touchstone for me (and so many others I know)…I’ve just downloaded ‘Small Victories’ and look forward to adding it to my collection. Thank you for responding with these magnificent excerpts. My morning is enriched.

  5. What would Anne Lamott say about this book: All the People I Still Dislike: A Perspective on All the People Who Inexplicably Trigger Me?

    I’m being serious.

    1. It’s one chapter on Forgiveness. And a powerful one. While the tone represented by these excerpts is sharp/harsh, it really isn’t representative of the book and the feeling that I had after reading it. I think she is finding her way to forgiveness, explaining the peace she gets from it, but recognizes it isn’t like turning a switch.

  10. Ah..love this, even reading it days later. This line got me each time I read it over

    There are so many things I cannot explain.

    There is a peace about it, an acceptance.

    1. I agree. There is magic here. Here’s another from Marion Blank that I thought you would enjoy:

      I don’t care for volume. When I am in the country, I live in a large house (it is my parents house) which is quite empty of things. In Paris, I live in a room, with books, not much else.
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      I was fortunate to travel. I learned many a lesson, one of which is that the adjective “vast” is not about physical dimension.
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      I can marry silence for a conversation. But this is a deep, modest kind of silence (to quote Montaigne).
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      Eyes say everything. Looking at someone’s eyes before he or she speaks is almost like being able to guess what he or she is going to say. People look at lips and miss half the meaning of someone’s words.
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      I think if one word could define me at this point in my life, that would be: wildpeace

        1. And, I am back, for this. I have just read it, more than a few times, as if reading a menu and trying to taste and sense each of the elements and flavors in a dish…trying to decide if that is the right choice for the palate at the moment. In this case, I get to order – and savor – them all. Wildpeace. How is that word so grounding?

          1. That’s it…right there. Wildpeace. And I couldn’t find the word but “grounding” is it. That’s where I stopped. It captured me so thoroughly (or at least the “peace-part” captured my aspiration)

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