Healing Ministry Volume 15, Number 4, Fall 2008

Healing Ministry Volume 15, Number 4, Fall 2008

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Secret passions Father Dn. Thomas Johnson-Medland, CSJ, OSL

Somehow, in the development of life, in aging, and in the approach of dying, our desires and passions are reduced to smaller doses but nonetheless potent portions. We are pulled in a thousand directions as we learn the dance of aging and compromise. We are often forced to consume less of our desires, but in doing so we learn to survive on less. We still need to have our small and secret desires met, even as we lay dying. Passions are mingled in our lives; scenting each breath. They rearrange our taste like a handful of cinnamon thrown into a pot with a shank of lamb, some ripe tomatoes, extra-virgin olive oil, and fresh green sprigs of basil. Passions steep into the meat of our exquisite and artfully divine, more than common fare. In our youth, large heaping handfuls—fistfuls—of spice must be added to flavor the stock Father Dn. Thomas Johnson-Medland, CSJ, OSL, Lighthouse Hospice, Cherry Hill, New Jersey.

of our days. Youthful passions are bold, somewhat manic, and indiscriminate; they must be loud, clear, and large. Large passions are moved about and replaced by passions that are able to clamor and scrape for more attention. But, in midlife and beyond, a pinch is all that is needed to taste the taste that will push us into savoring subtle release. An aromatic hint can lure us into complete rapture as our senses are more highly refined and discriminating. A frond of saffron is detectable in a mound of fleshy rice. We can sustain the trail of many passions, only indications calling us to satiation. That our passions become hidden and secret is an alchemical response to refinement. For some, the ability to sense the subtle result of being purged—again and again—by the draining presence of suffering and loss. For others, it is a way to cope with the need to sustain oneself, finding nourishment and sustenance on smaller portions, and

more varied offerings. However it comes, refinement sharpens the taste and heightens the feel of aroma. Morsels of passions are sweet. Morsels of passions are rich. Morsels of passions stop time and collapse its confining walls—making pathways to ecstasy of its stones. I have found these morsels to be enough. They sustain me and nourish new growth. In the clutching of these crumbs—in the ingestion of these bits—I have found the fulfillment my youth screamed to find in fullblooded feasts in the ongoing process culinary revolution and constant change of cuisine. Today, it is enough to shave the chocolate into my cup of steamed milk. That pounds of chocolate to slake my desire. Our passions and desires shift and change throughout our days in this life. At one moment, we are consumed by knowledge and wisdom, at another it is love and sexual pleasure, and at yet another it may be solitude, or chocolate, or the waves. Ebbing and

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Healing Ministry Volume 15, Number 4, Fall 2008

flowing throughout our lives the desires might change, but that we desire and long to fulfill these desires does not change. Perhaps the object of our longing is different, but that we long is not. I think that the greatest and most deeply rooted secret desire in me is the desire for the woods. I have longed for the earthy smell of loam and the glimpse of dampening bark against the greening leaves since I was 10. Many passages in my life have been made through the support of the out of doors. At 10, I longed to live in the wilds, fording rivers, Nature. Felling trees and shaping a home took countless hours of my daydreams. Page after page of blue-lined graph paper consumed me, drawling out of me the plans of numberless cabins. First there was one with lofts and then another with tunnels. The plans took fuller shape when I garnered the full stockpile of my collection of Lincoln Logs. The smooth, shiny brown logs, carefully locked in place—and relocked again and again—gave the needed dimension that the plans could not elicit from a 10-year-old mind, or eye, or hand. The mind turned over and over again the idea of being an adventurer. The notion turned so many times in my mind it began to tangle itself around my heart. Tangling around my feeling it satiated my love for being against all odds in the wilds of nature. The feeling mounted, demanding I spend time outdoors—of course—but also meeting the brave and capable isolates of time. Conquistadors, warriors,

scouts, chiefs, explorers, trappers, and pirates—these all became my comrades. I read, and read, and read creating a small island of intelligence that I could retreat to when the trees and forest were not around. I spun castles, and caves, ships and horses; all of them mine and all of them at my command. I did not know that this childhood fascination and fantasy would burrow itself into my soul. It was there, in my soul, that it became a passion. It is there, in my soul, that it became entwined with my own identity—the very ground of my own being. It began to define me and give me meaning. You may entertain at will and becoming something that drives you on—and becomes a passion. The one you consume and the other consumes you. That these words sound large and looming is not fearful, for there are times when each side flips back over and becomes the other once again. It is a cycle of feeding. When a pleasure is sated it then may take on a life of its own and begin to consume the one who has been pleased. At some point it will all go back to the beginning. And then, what seems to happen as you sustain a passion over a lifetime or any other extended period of time, other things vie for attention and pull at the amount of time and energy that you can invest in the passion. Slowly, over time, you learn to concentrate the pleasure and consummation. You learn to allow smaller doses of the passion to fulfill your inner hunger. The playhouse that we built in the backyard became the cabin I longed to build in the wilderness.

It sufficed for the isolate-shed that called me to the adventures of a man and his desire to tame the world. I kept all kinds of camping, hiking, and trapping gear out there. It was filled with mounted bugs as well. I was set free into the wilds when I became a nature instructor at a local camp. I could entertain the notion of becoming a wilderness man and actually live the adventure at the same time. I would live for the summer in the nature lodge on the edge of the woods. I would teach others the sacred way, the way to survive against all odds. That job went on for nine summers. All the while I shoveled more and more information into the furnaces of my heart and mind. I learned all of the local edibles—and ate them. I learned about all animals— and I trailed them. As the days wore on, college ended and the need for a fulltime job took center stage. But, I thrived in the woods on weekends and when I could steal away after work. Marriage, a family, aging parents all pulled at how I could spend my time. And with the passing of age, the passion became secret; not by virtue of a need to hide it. It became secret by virtue of its being absented in the daily routine of life. I find myself stealing moments from the wilds. I pull over to a grove of trees, or I park by the river on occasion. I just sit and absorb all that there is to absorb. Sometimes I wonder whether I would have survived if I had set off to stake my claim against the wilds of the woodlands. Sometimes I am thankful for all

Healing Ministry Volume 15, Number 4, Fall 2008

that I have been through and a part of until this breath. In either case, it is in small and concentrated doses that I capture moments to soak up the awe from a fiveminute sunset, to grab the splendor from a babbling brook and to capture the wonder in the wind through the trees. It is no different with the dying. There are secret and hidden passions that they have and long to fulfill, even in the short savoring burst that five minutes

can offer. Perhaps, it is being wheeled to the beach for a sunset or savoring a small taste of Greek coffee and baklava. Whatever the passion is, it can offer a simple and refreshing taste of the divine as someone is able to sip it slowly and deeply. We can make the ineffable nod of the affirmative (that great Zen “Aha” moment) something we partake of or we can facilitate its happening for the dying. In either case, a movement toward

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fulfillment is very settling and can bring echoes of peace and calm into a life that is weak or chaotic. Behind all of the play of our passions and desires, it is our unequivocal longing to be ONE WITH THE ONE. The meeting of one desire is a chipping away at the ultimate hope of all seekers: that we could find our rest in the ONE. How will we work that into our care of the dying?