Breathing Puzzles
by Matt Whitney
On the end-table in my living room sits a collection of daily reflections by Mark Nepo called The Book of Awakening. I will sit with my coffee in the morning, see it sitting there unopened for three months, and after silently scolding myself, pick it up and flip to that day’s reflection. On the morning of October 7th was a reflection titled “Until We Live It”:
I imagine many of you resonate with this sense of being a “breathing puzzle.” Lately for me, being a “living bag of pieces” feels resonant! A sense of wholeness and completeness is often elusive. How do we discern the true picture of ourselves, emerging from all the fragments? When do we arrive at knowing we are a complete being?
I make art in my free time, and right now a number of incomplete oil paintings line the wall of my art studio. None of them relates to each other except I am working on them concurrently. I honestly don’t know where any of them are going! For each of them I started with something of a plan—it could be a photograph of a special place I’ve been hiking, or an idea for an abstract composition. I will work on the painting with this ‘plan’ in mind, taking it to the point where I’ve completed the plan, but the painting itself has just begun. The plan offers a starting point, but where it brings me is to an incomplete image. The painting in front of me lacks a sense of mystery and wonder that I often feel when looking at art I love. For the true painting to emerge, the plan is abandoned, and a new activity begins—a dialogue.
This dialogue is an investigation into what is happening with the image, and a wondering on where it could go. I can respond with additional painting. “This texture over in the corner is interesting. Hmm…what about this color combination that has just appeared? Does something need to be added? Deleted?” Sometimes there’s no painting at all in this dialogue, rather, I’ll sit with the canvas and just look, discerning on what may be emerging. The ‘breathing puzzle’ of this dialogue can sometimes take weeks and even months.
But where this dialogue can get short-circuited is when I sense a change is needed, but am afraid to do it. Often this is my own good-intentioned ego trying to rescue me: “Why are you wasting time on this? Abandon this process—the art looks bad, anyway —and do what’s already familiar to you!” I’m learning to better recognize that voice without jumping to conclusions. More difficult is discerning the need to drastically rework a section of the canvas, or even start over (maybe I am stuck on fixing something “bad”). I can’t face the possibility of ‘failure’—to do so would render all of it a waste of time. So, I continue trying to “rescue” the painting, putting yet more hours into sustaining something that isn’t likely to work. I can no longer see what I need to let go of. I am too mired in the work, considering it from too many angles. The puzzle is starting to feel hopeless.
Reaching this point, where we can’t puzzle ourselves out, we need a second set of eyes.
In my case, that’s a trusted artist friend who I can invite to the studio. This can’t be just a good-intentioned friend, but a trained artist who is experienced themself and understands the struggle. They come to look at the art, hear me share aloud about my process, and they in turn share what they see and hear. Hearing myself aloud is often enough to recognize where I am stuck. But my friend listens, and with fresh eyes, can observe and readily discern what’s working, what’s not, and offer suggestions on where I can go. From these exchanges I learn to see clearly again and proceed with the joy of discovering the mysterious essence of the painting. This puzzling out with my trusted friend, done with kindness, patience, and perseverance, helps reveal to me how to make this painting a completed image, now recognizable and attainable.
You likely see where I am going with this. Painting is an analogue to my own inner journey, and perhaps you can relate. If you are anything like me, you may find yourself struggling to sort out your own “breathing puzzle.” The puzzle that is our spiritual journey doesn’t necessarily begin with the finished image on the front of the box. Without the reference, it’s a much more complicated task!
We can bring our spiritual journeys, the highs and lows and everything in-between, to a trained spiritual companion. These deep listeners can lovingly observe where we’ve been, what’s happening, and where we are going. They can reveal to us where they see the complete image already taking form. They can help us identify the burdensome pieces, shed light on confounding blockages, and release tensions we no longer need to hold onto—those things that prevent us from meeting and befriending our True Self, and connecting with God, the Infinite, or however you name the Ground of All Being.
A second set of eyes—or ears in the case of a spiritual director or companion—who listen to our daily puzzlings, while lovingly holding the big picture of our lives, helps us fit the pieces together and bring it all into focus. Puzzles can be fun and they can be daunting, but most always they are made simpler and more enjoyable when done with a friend.
Liminal
I’ll meet you in Rumi’s field
Where poppies dance on serpentine stems
Drinking the sun at dawn
I’ll point to the fog nestled between
The mountain and lake and there will be
Tears mirroring the same magic in your eyes
In your hand will be a gift for me
The hourglass you finally broke
With the truth you spoke from a deeper voice
I will take the one piece still in tact-
The portal of the narrow neck
Before the wind releases the rest
I will say let’s make a bell
And this will be the clapper
You can hear your voice ringing and
You will not be ashamed of anything
Shout to the mountain
There are galaxies within you
Let it echo back for you to hear forever.
I will stay close and listen with you
The wild twin, bearing witness
If my heart bursts open
Yours might too.
Here is where there is no other
Cloudy lonesome road —
Rain clouds carry my burden.
One drop ends the drought.
“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.”
—Martin Buber
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