WHAT WE NEED IS HERE

What we need is here

Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.

Wendell Berry

There are real things “high over us,” outside of our control, “passing” throughout the day. “Abandon” is not a fatalistic submission nor a shoulder-shrugging Que Sera, Sera, but an ancient wisdom or faith, if you will, that lays the groundwork for “holding them to their way.” Abandon is a heart-willing surrender to what is or to a posture that embodies “what we need is here.” Abandonment is the wisdom of freedom.

Abandonment in and to love is the worthiest pursuit in anyone’s life. To live such an uncalculated and non-transactional life is the ultimate freedom of love. I have tasted such abandonment just enough to yearn for more as I get older. In the meantime, I am learning to notice “geese appearing high over me,” a summer California sun working extra hard, and the bare, brown San Gabriel Mountains every day.

Yesterday, my wife and I drove Mom to Malibu for her favorite clam chowder at Malibu Seafood Fresh Fish Market & Patio Café. Situated right by the shimmering Pacific Ocean, the view is unbeatable. As we were finishing up, my eyes naturally followed a tiny East Indian girl holding her dad’s hand. Her black, sparkly eyes occupied half her small face, the rest hidden under her peach-colored sunhat, which was cutely mismatched with her strawberry shortcake-themed dress. She was obviously overtaken by something, as her raised, crooked finger confirmed.

As I traced her finger’s direction, I saw a beautiful yellow monarch butterfly (later, I discovered it was a tiger swallowtail) hovering around the nearby flower bush. She was mesmerized by the butterfly, carefully trailing, tugging at her dad. The elusive butterfly flew in circles, and Dad gave up, but the girl clearly was not done. Finally, the butterfly settled on a flower right in front of the girl as if to showcase its charm and to say hello, and the girl promptly did her Asian squat, signaling she was not going to budge anytime soon. By then, Dad realized what was taking place and joined her in squatting, trying to match his eyes’ level with hers. Both exhibited abandonments to love and to now in such a delightful way that my heart also fluttered with joy.

On the surface, abandonment to sleep cannot be guaranteed, especially as we try to get over jet lag. Deeper is the abandonment of control and the letting of the world move according to its own designs and needs. It is a worthy, necessary note to myself that I am not in charge of running the universe, much less my small world. Sleep awakens me from all my illusions, which is a striking irony. Sleep is God’s way of resetting, a daily lesson in letting go, letting be, and starting over.

To abandon is to be quiet in heart and to possess a clear eye. The prophet in Berry ushers in a quiet, bold declaration of rebellion and revolution: “we pray, not for new earth or heaven.” The obsession with the kingdom of the future subverts what it means to be in the kingdom of now, robbing saints of the opportunity to be poor stewards of God’s agenda in the now. According to Berry, the ancient and perennial faith teaches and holds the kingdom of now—how to live as humans now. Now and here are so close that they remain elusive or overlooked. Thus, abandonment to now is needed.

Thus, what we need is here.