Deconstruction

Collapsed column, upper site, Delphi

Have you been feeling unclear, uncertain, unsettled? If the “un”s describe you, don’t distress. You aren’t alone. I’ve lost count of how many friends, this last week, have said they feel on the precipice of an abyss. Some have described the ground crumbling away beneath their feet. Others have been anxious and fearful without understanding the source.

Natural disasters, such as earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and flashfloods, coupled with human disasters, such as the BP oil spill and continuing financial crises, have left usually solid souls grasping the eroding cliff’s edge.

If this description is familiar, you are not going crazy, although it can certainly feel this way. Instead, you are probably more sensitive than you realize. You are picking up on tremendous change. Just as animals detect and flee forthcoming natural disasters (elephants, for example, are quite good at detecting earthquakes), so do you. Your body and psyche are linked to the greater whole and are registering enormous change--and it’s scaring the bejeezus out of you.

But, here’s the thing. We all know that these changes are inevitable. We need to shift big-time, both personally and as part of the human race. So, if change is coming no matter what we do, doesn’t it make sense to go with it, rather than halt and defend? Remind me-- what exactly are we defending? An old way of being that is completely unsustainable?

A wise friend shared this pearl with me long ago: deconstruction is inevitable, necessary even; creation follows.

In order for anything new to be created, the old must fall away. Eventually, everything deconstructs into its essential building blocks. If we allow this, we may find that what we built wasn’t as solid as we thought, because the building blocks, themselves, weren’t solid. Solidity is almost impossible to determine from the outside in. The truth becomes clear only when we allow inessential elements to fall away.

So, if you think everything is falling apart, you are correct. But rather than trying to protect the old flawed structure, let it collapse. Gather solid building blocks, and place your attention on the structure you will now build, the one that is sustainable, the one that will last for the rest of your life. You’re older and wiser now. Imagine what you will create!

Revisiting the Void

After a fourteen year hiatus, I revisited New York City. When I had a free moment, did I head out to the hottest Broadway show? Did I rush to the latest newsworthy restaurant? How about a trip to Times Square, Radio City Music Hall, the Statue of Liberty or, perhaps, the Met? No. None of the above. Out of hundreds of spectacular choices, I headed straight to the Guggenheim.

The first and only time I had experienced this curvaceous feminine oddity in a world of linearly-structured museums was as a young teen. It left a lasting impressing on my hormonally-affected adolescent mind. I loved her curves, the illusion of having no beginning or end, the seemingly empty yet pregnant space in her center, the ascending spiral to the Gods. So my return to Manhattan would not be complete without paying homage to the Goddess amongst museums.

In the midst of a noisy dinner, I received a phone call from Mom, alerting me to a special event at the Guggenheim. I couldn’t quite make out what she was saying—just words here and there…Guggenheim…anniversary…void…exhibit. But it didn’t matter, because I had already decided that it would be my first stop.

On Sunday, I made my way uptown, constantly rechecking the cross streets. It should be close. There’s Central Park. Where is it? The Guggenheim is neatly hidden away behind a row of angular apartment buildings. Her curves are nestled behind their sturdy frames which stand guard like overprotective husbands, fathers, and brothers sheltering their wives, daughters, and sisters. This reminded me of her Greek sister Goddess at the Acropolis, suddenly appearing above in the most unlikely Athenian places.

Although the Guggenheim’s outside appearance is impressive, enter within her for an unimaginable experience. During my first trip, I was too young to contemplate, analyze, or evaluate her with my mind. Instead, she found her way into my heart. This time, with years of experience and a bit of wisdom, I was overwhelmed. And just in case I didn’t get it, her Fiftieth Anniversary (which also coincided with my fiftieth year) included the striking exhibit Contemplating the Void. You see, Frank Lloyd Wright and many others got it too. They understood that the gestational center, the Void, isn’t empty at all, but contains all the necessary ingredients for new creation.

This time I did contemplate. Visiting the Void is quite common to midlife journeyers. For those of you who fear revisiting this vital center, remember that this is the place from which all is created. There is absolutely nothing to fear, unless you are set on holding onto your old way of being. Only then is there everything to fear. Those of you at midlife recognize this conflict. We must revisit her center. Our new creations will then radiate outwards, just as they do at the Guggenheim.