Patrick Mosher describes a retreat where creaking sounds and migrating geese sparked a shift: instead of asking "What should I be doing?" he learned to ask "What do you want me to do?" The realization that presence itself is the highest form of service helped him step back from overwhelming creative projects.
Chapters
Imagine the sound of a creaking door slowly opening. Got it? I was out on our Pine City property yesterday, my monthly escape from the bustle of my work and home, my self-imposed glorious timeout. Next to me, I hear the crackle of my campfire. Occasionally, geese fly overhead with their honking as they migrate. It's the stillness I notice and the sound of creaking doors. An old branch blowing in the breeze makes the sound of a creaky door. I stopped for a second to listen, and there's more than one. Not constant, just occasional. I count 4 in different directions. I close my eyes. Pause, waiting for the next creak. My imagination drifts with the pause. I see a grandmother rocking in her chair. A loose board in the floor creaks as she rocks forward. She's doing close work with her glasses pulled down her nose, needlepoint or knitting, with her hands and fingers working mechanically and oh, so artfully. She's telling me a story of my ancestors. I sit across the room. Her eyes dance as she occasionally rocks forward in the chair, looks at me over her glasses, and emphasizes a particular point in the story. I open my eyes and feel blessed, surrounded by grandmothers, each one telling me stories with each creak of her chair. I feel at home. Thank you, Grandma, for the gift of feeling at home. On my hour drive to the woods, my thoughts swirled. My heart has been troubled of late as I wrestle with my true purpose. I have 4 books to write, weekly blog posts, monthly program to deliver, building an app based on my research of the Titanic, creating a beautiful coffee table book of our journey to Delphi, Greece. Busier than ever, I receive a constant stream of ideas, downloads, and intuitions. If I chase each one, I'm a dog chasing my tail. Lots of activity, but with little progress. I feel blessed with the abundance and exhausted with constant spinning. Do you feel that way sometimes? Am I doing what I should be doing? Am I living fully into my true purpose? With all this spinning in my head and the grandmothers surrounding me, I asked them the question, What should I be doing? Well, they tell me I'm asking the wrong question. What should I be doing is a question about me, as if I'm the center of the universe. And in this space, I am not in the center. I adjust my question and utter the new one: What do you want me to do? Was it the hiss from the fire or an answer to my prayer? Either way, I hear loud and clear This. I've tortured myself over what I should be doing. I make plans and then analyze. I meditate and pray on the question. Contemplating the question spins me out of the preciousness of this present moment. Yes, this. Experiencing the beauty in the presence in this moment is the most precious action I can take. I relax. Feel the slight breeze across my skin, earth supporting me. I breathe deeply. Yes, I'm blessed. I'm grateful. Thank you. Our ancestors are always present and ready to guide us. Just stop. Listen to the creaking trees, the geese flying overhead. Whatever you notice, Absorb the gift of their stories in your heart and soul. Be here, truly present. This.
