Gone Fishin’
Posted by Tyler on November 28th, 2006Life’s finest moments acknowledge no past and require no future. They halt time in its thoughtless linearity and bend it into encircling, enveloping infinity. And do not think they are all happy, either; a moment’s meaning lies not only in its content but in its presence, in its immediate reality. If we choose to become alive to the vitality around us, we will find even sorrow is woven of its own deep sweetness—not to mention beauty, love, nature, and being. Heroes teach me that it is I, not savage or gentle circumstance, who may rob my life of meaning. Some few luminous souls have even infused neglect, torture, ridicule, and death with the life of spiritual light—hence when Thomas Becket dies we notice not so much his passing but what all that happened means.
Still, happy moments most easily teach us meaning. Holding a girl’s hand, for instance, may surround me with its allure and aroma—if I choose to awake to the beauty. Words may lie dead on the page, but if I seek I find them jumping up and arranging themselves into hidden meanings and beautiful cadences. A cord lives or dies—either fervent and pulsating or dead and barren as a winter tree—according to my willingness to hear.
Some such moments press their meaning insistently upon me; I cannot ignore their fullness, their self-contained wholeness.
And such was fishing with my dad last summer.
Scout Lake. Hostess fruit pies. Rainbow trout. Poles propped up on leaning rocks. Skewering the worm, watching it wriggle. Casting: arching my back, pointing the pole to the trees, letting the hook and bait fly, listening to the line unwind, plunk!, waiting, watching the pole, talking politics, family, waiting; then the rod quivers, stopping speaking, watching intently, hoisting the pole, flinging it over my shoulder, reeling, reeling, the rush, the fish—flopping, looking at me with one accusing eye—then slicing it open, watching the guts fall out in the stream.
Meanwhile, the lake, the green pungent odor of pines, the lapping of turquoise on rocks, the shine of the sun on our skin—all of this surrounds us, envelops us, enfolds us in its comfort.
There is no more, and there needn’t be. This is enough. It is whole.
Whoa. Eloquent.
I love how different people can read different meanings into different events. That’s why the scriptures teach us something new each time we read them–we’ve been through different trials and events that give the same words new insight and value.
Comment # 1 left by Connor Boyack on November 28th, 2006
Connor, I agree. Everything in which we engage–reading, watching, listening, experiencing–is defined not only by what happens but by who we are. All of our former experiences and current knowledge inform our current experiences.
Comment # 2 left by tyler on November 28th, 2006
Infinity in a moment. I love it.
“it is I, not savage or gentle circumstance, who may rob my life of meaning”
This is so true, and so easy to forget in our life of modern comfort. Well said.
Comment # 3 left by Naiah Earhart on November 28th, 2006
I wish I understood better the whole ‘Be still and know that I am God’ enjoyment of life. I often get caught upin the Western, American, Mormon, business of doing.
Should I feel at peace during those moments when I golf? Or a guilt that there are better things that could be done if I were not so selfish and lazy.
I hope you understand I am not mocking your post Tyler. I am envying the ability to see value in such things.
Men are that they might have joy right?
Comment # 4 left by Eric Nielson on November 28th, 2006
Eric–
I think part of the trick is realizing God really wants us to enjoy life–he wants us to take part in beautiful moments. We can, if we aren’t careful, get so caught up in going places we never enjoy what’s around us. It even applies to spiritual things: progression is important, but worth much less if we do not learn to soak in the divine which surrounds us.
Comment # 5 left by tyler on November 29th, 2006
I love the companion principle to Tyler’s wisdom taught in “Shadowlands,” the brillant movie adaptation of C. L. Lewis’ relationship with Joy Gresham. Gresham (Debra Winger) has become Lewis’ (Anthony Hopkins) wife. Cancer slowly ravages Gresham. Towards the end, she and Lewis take a holiday. She pleads with Lewis to talk to her about her dying, but Lewis protests. “Let’s not spoil it,” he says. “It doesn’t spoil it,” she retorts, “it makes it real. I’m going to die.” “I think I can manage.” “I think it can be better than just managing. The pain then is part of the happiness now. That’s the deal.”
Comment # 6 left by beeshnkj on November 29th, 2006
I have a friend who keeps a bibliography of his life–recording all the things he was read (or, by extension, seen) which have made him who he is. If I made such a list, Shadowlands would hold a prominent place–I’m sure some of the wisdom gleaned from there went into my post (though my post in not nearly so wise as that play).
Comment # 7 left by tyler on November 30th, 2006