writing

Cathedral of the Sea

/ Linda Coggin / Leave a comment


During Holy Week, Mitch and I spent the week in Tofino, on the west coast of Vancouver Island.  It seemed a fitting week to be away.  On Wednesday afternoon, I took the short walk through the woods to Middle Beach.  From the balcony of our room, I could see I would probably be alone.  I took my notebook and my bare feet to to my seat on the driftwood log, writing under the influence of the connectedness of life here.

View of Middle Beach from our room balcony


I should have brought a camera to take a picture of this spot. Yet, it would only be a cheap copy of now. The ocean is loud and I cannot see anyone as I look around; only the deep blue of the water, the lace of surf as it touches the shore and the wide expanse of smooth sand. I’m back near the forest sitting on a large driftwood log. Once a robust tree, her strength my seat and her younger sister my footstool. 


 In front of me, on the sand still damp from high tide, someone has stacked rounded stones. Sabine told me this was a thin place.  I know that, too.  My bare feet soak in the warmth of the sun and feel the pulse of the sea through the sand.

Earlier this morning, Mitch and I walked on Mackenzie Beach on the other side of the place we are staying.  At low tide we witnessed the sea life waiting the return of the tide that will change their lives. 

Walking where the waves broke shoreline I, too, felt the pull of the tidal water renew the life in me just like the sea stars and anemones and barnacles waiting on the rocks for the life giving water’s return.  I walked for as long as the beach lasted and gave way to massive black rock that blocked my way.

The reciprocal care between the earth and us is evident in unexpected ways. We place a rubber squid on the door knob outside our room. It is a signal that we don’t need the extravagant use of water resources to have someone change our sheets or wash extra towels during our stay. That little squid is a more compatible symbol of care and kindness for all life rather than the “DO NOT DISTURB” signal from another place and time.

We are blessed to be here during this “holy week” that isn’t any different than any other week here. The wonder never ceases. The troubles of the world seem non-existent for a moment. It’s easier to let go here; to know that the possibilities of my worries aren’t worth my attention, as they seem to be in the dark, when I forget to trust the unity of all things that doesn’t change. What does that compline prayer say?  Be present, O merciful God,…so that we who are wearied by the changes and chances of this life may rest in your eternal changelessness.

It’s easier to participate in the trust of the whole creation here—to have the strength to let go—of control, of despair, of anything that keeps me from this reality that I know in this moment. Yes, I can always return to this deep centre, trusting that the rope of Love will hold no matter what is pulling the other end.

A Good? Life

/ Linda Coggin / Leave a comment

I might have been in grade 11 when I wrote my most ambitious paper for English class. I explored the question, “Is honesty always the best policy?”  I have vivid memories of weaving through the stacks in our school library (after visiting the card catalogue) and intently trying to walk both sides of an answer.  This wasn’t a casual topic choice for me and I can’t actually say what life experience fuelled my fascination with honesty. I still remember the wondering and researching but looking back I didn’t have an inkling about how reading and writing were, quite honestly, saving me.

We all have the responsibility to live honestly—whatever that means.  Over many years, I’ve circled around the concept of living “unselfconsciously”  to alleviate fear and self judgement and second guessing about what is and what could be.  Which brings me to my idea to go back 5 years and post raw material from my 2018 notebook and, as I wrote, to unselfconsciously listen to my life.

I planned to lift the words out of the pages of that notebook and into the blog without striving to find the perfect word to describe whatever internal story I was spinning.  The truth is that in my last blog (December 7, 2023) I changed 2 words that I couldn’t seem to say again.  They seemed tired and out of touch with what was my deepest desire.  

In my old notebook was the familiar trope, “to have a successful and meaningful life.”  Even though I said I would not edit the old writing entries except to include context, I changed those words.  I changed the words “successful and meaningful” to “good?” with a question mark as another letter.  

I suppose the question mark was my own disclaimer that “good” isn’t any clearer than “successful and meaningful” and that is definitely not what I hoped to describe.  The idea that we hold the ability to strive, achieve, and “make” a life is a mistaken one.  Sure those things happen but they aren’t the consequential parts.  Perhaps, our life is response, moment by moment, born out in loving and honest relationship.

And as it happens, I was reading Mary Oliver’s book of essays, Winter Hours.  On pages 19-20, she writes,

For [inherited responsibility] is how I feel, who have inherited not measurable wealth but, as we all do who care for it, that immeasurable fund of thoughts and ideas from writers and thinkers long gone into the ground— and inseparable from those wisdom’s because demanded by them, the responsibility to live thoughtfully and intelligently.  To enjoy, to question—never to assume, or trample.  Thus the great ones (my great ones who may not be the same as your great ones) have taught me— to observe with passion, to think with patience, to live always care—ingly.

a worthwhile response to what we have been given 

/ Linda Coggin / Leave a comment

I write every day in my “notebook” that serves many purposes. 

I record circumstances of my life, other people’s stories I hear, what I’m thinking, what I my wonder about and my prayer-like reflection.  I also use my notebook as a “commonplace book” where I copy snippets of other people’s words from whatever I am reading.  Sometimes I remember what has captured my attention and often, when I look back, I’m again surprised how those words help me make sense of my world again. That was the case when I saw the quote from Richard Wagamese’s novel, Dream Wheels.  This is what I wrote 5 years ago:

December 11, 2018

 Claire is talking to a Detective when her son in jail didn’t want to see her — Dream Wheels, by R. Wagamese

I have this friend, he says that old-time Indians used to routinely give away everything they had in order to take on a new direction.  He had an Indian word for it that I can’t pronounce but it comes down to being disencumbered.  According to him it freed you, allowed you to meet the world square on, like how you got here, he said.  And the act of it, the giving away of what everyone else regarded as important, returned you to the humility you were born in.  That’s how he said it.  And that state, the state of being humble, was a spiritual thing, a powerful spiritual thing that made the new journey stronger, made you stronger.  
	
I think of things— things that seem right and then I talk myself out of them.  Do I really trust God if I second guess the things that seem like ideas from my heart?  No, I rely on my own understanding.

Psalm 25: 4-5  Make me to know your ways…lead me in your truth, and teach me.

I will learn by responding to the things put before me— kind of a paradox—let go of figuring things out.

Now, as I look back, Claire’s words speak a little differently to a five year older me.  Perhaps, giving away everything— what everyone else regards as important— could also mean giving up expectations or former ways of being in the world, like our profession or doing what we think counts.  Do I spend more time wondering how to live my life instead of actually living it?  

Mitch asked a question in his sermon this week that seems to fit me here: “Will we be so caught up in meeting expectations that we miss the hope that God offers to us?” …disencumbered, to meet the world square on.