Spiritual crowd surf

Today I heard from my young lady of Shalott. She is half sick of shadows and short a decent Lancelot. She writes me about every two months. She is willowy fair and lovely and loved. She’s articulate and soulful and suffers from a mental disorder, she knows. But knowledge doesn’t shake the darkness. And it doesn’t give her an answer to, “Why should I live?”

I’ve had a hard time writing lately because I am desperately compelled to seek out an answer. There are a few people in my life suffering from crippling depression. Christmas followed by January…tends to be some dark months. One of my dearest oldest friends also suffers. There is nothing I can say, I’ve learned that much. It isn’t for me to say. Presumptuous. But silence is deadly. It is impossible to find the right words.

It is about listening. I’ve learned that much.

But – she does deserves an answer. One that satisfies. Because she is brave enough to ask the question instead of just quietly hiding, dying away. And I am not going to spout her scripture or platitudes or beautiful hopeful well meaning poetry. So what do I do?

I offer a stumbling mantra of sorts. You are loved, you are lovely, you are needed, you are God’s, you are loved. She asks, “But what do I contribute?” She is contributing. If nothing else, someone who asks such questions, someone who makes us have to move out of our circle of selfishness – is absolutely vital to our spiritual health. “A burden” she calls herself. I call it “gift”. She says “too heavy to lift”.

I head out to the Cross fit gym to get out of my head. it is an every-other-day practice. I go to stretch myself. I go to run. Hard. I go to lift heavy weights. I lift to the point where I can’t lift anymore. The more I do this, the stronger I am. It gives me energy. This is the greatest of mysteries. It prolongs my life. At one point, with the bar bell over my head, I realize I’m lifting something about the size of a woman. And in my mind I picture my lady of Shalott being lifted and carried over the heads of friends and family who take turns to bear her weight with her, a moment here, a moment there. A sort of spiritual Cross fit crowd surfing.

And suddenly the whole scenario is turned on its head. She suffers in order for us to exercise?! Can’t say as that’s much comfort either. Can’t say as that sounds fair. And then I have to ask, “Why do I think life is fair?” And then I retort with the usual, “What kind of loving God…” which of course is answered with, “What do you know about Love and God? You are only now learning the more energy you expend, the more you gain. The more love you expend the more you gain…and that’s taken you forty years, Lucia…”

I stop short.

She didn’t ask for comfort. She didn’t ask for fair. She asked, “Why should I live?”

I most meekly have an answer I am too sheepish to share. But the only one I really have licence to give.

“for me.”