Augur has come to the realization that he is lost and will forever be.
He ran out of string years ago. He still remembers the feel of the tattered end slipping through his calloused fingers. He could have turned back, picked up the muddy cord and followed it out into the familiar light. He chose to continue on, to crawl deeper into the dark caverns. Now he is captured by the endless maze of his inner underground.
This is not a silent place. He hears the whisper of past conversations and forgotten songs, captured by his mind to repeat in the endless rewind of memory.
The First Reading
November 21, 1999
This year I have come to this place as I have before
but this time I used no written instructions.
I did not pore over a map and painstakingly
list each of the highways and their headings.
Yes I have been here enough times before to have memorized the way
But I have such a fear of being lost.
Being lost is what I, where I, need to be.
The Second Reading
April 28, 2002
Once you were hesitant and you decided to go further this time through the woods on a myriad of meandering trails until you are lost, though not really, only far away from where you began.
Down below by the river, the realization grows that this is not the direction you thought you were heading. The land is unfamiliar and you no longer know where you fit in the geography.
You stop. You turn around. You find your way back, the journey longer than you thought, its substance unexpected.
You took courage. You began. The circle has come round again. And somehow, someway, something has been made complete in you.
The Third Reading
June 11, 2018
last evening
we walked toward a destination
knowing where we wanted to go
yet unsure how best to get there
following the gps
towards the setting sun
a boy fished from the shore
hoping for a catch
turning towards the sea
then back to watch his
family pack for home
after a long day
at the beach
children swam
in the dark waves
shouting laughing
mama leave me here
holding onto the joy of the water
until the last
minute
a couple asked if
i had lost a phone
held it up for me to see
wiped the sand away
to find they could
not unlock the screen
as it grew dark
the beach became deserted
a white heron stepped
out of the gloom
we wondered if we
should continue
the phone could no longer show us the way
we chose to go on
guided by the music and the lights
in the distance
walking barefoot
between the sand and the sea
laughter
chased away the doubts
and the brief shivers
of fear
later
after our refrescos
walking back on the dark road
she rescues a frog that had strayed from its hiding place in the grass to hop out into the traffic
in the unscripted
i am reminded again
of the opportunities for compassion
for joy and tastes of adventure
if i am watchful
for the signs
like this flashlight on my phone which i point towards the oncoming cars
so they know
we are here
The Fourth Reading
January 20, 2014
We are men on retreat. The Elder has brought us to this place deep underground. He has made one simple request. We are to turn off our lights. We do so and discover that there is no darkness like the darkness beneath the earth.
As is often the case I feel many questions moving inside of me. Should I reach out blindly and touch the brother nearest me? Should I be still? Should I continue to sit in silence? Should I give voice to the song rising up from my belly?
So I sit in silence, listening to the noise of my inner turmoil and confusion.
But the song remains.
So I begin to sing.
“Amazing grace . . .”
The melody fills the tiny room of stone. The words seem to rise up and hang in the blackness of the ceiling.
The song ends.
The silence returns.
I wonder if I did right.
A brother begins to weep. His sobs fill the space around us where the song once was.
Later he tells us why, sharing some struggles and giving credit to the song for releasing him. His story helps the rest of us to share. Somehow, in this cave of confusion, grace has broken through.
When we crawl back out into the light, the muddy earth drying on our skin, we are changed men.
I still speak with the Elder.
Once a month we revisit that “cave” and sit together within its sacred confines. He listens as I describe the struggle to be a man of integrity in this day and age. He creates a space for me to continue the journey of being honest and vulnerable with others, especially other men.
He encourages me to continue to resist the temptation to fill the void inside with the temporal. He challenges me to respect those around me, especially women. He helps me reflect on whether what I do is out of ego or love. He gives me leave to sit with the questions, to hold them and myself with gentleness and grace.
Slowly I am learning when to be silent.
And when to gather the darkness close to me like a comforting cloak, lift my voice to the rock around me, and sing.
Epilogue
Augur crawls deeper. Soon the voices begin to recede into the depths and beneath the heavy quiet of that other Voice.
He is afraid, but that is to be expected. There are creatures here, forged of memory and pain and regrets. They hover in the shadows just out of reach until his groping hands touches them. Then they draw near.
They join the others who follow him, a different sort of retrieving line, as together, hand in hand, Augur and his entourage make their way down into the fearful, revealing dark.
The Book of Augur 