Untitled: letting the words flow.
A newsletter 'From the Pilgrim Path'
Clicky clack go the keys. Fingers warming up, though in truth it's not that they're not used to writing but that they've become unfamiliar with the luxury of writing the thoughts which are simply for thinking.
Emails. Texts. Courses. Logistics. Details. Searching.
Click clack go the keys, and words tumble past our eyes into the forgotten realms of momentary curiosity.
Clickety clackety, tippety tappery, the keys bounce fluidly beneath fingers remembering the echoes of creativity.
It's been a while, and I've made excuses. Perfection becomes the enemy of the good and silence has been the order of the day. Well, at least silence in this kind of a way.
Silence.
No clicks, no taps.
No dopamine, no scrolling.
There once was a man called Pat who said something like, "Those who are truly growing in their spiritual consciousness are not on this site [Twitter]." I found that uncomfortable. I'm on that site, afterall. For several years I remained on that site even though I had times where I would take a break to a greater or lesser extent. Sometimes those breaks were simply lurking. Watching, observing but (cowardly?) refraining from saying anything. Other times those breaks simply meant I only logged in on my PC and I didn't use my phone. For the longest time I refused to use the app. Not because it was bad but because it was well designed and my little mind was unable to resist the temptations to spiral into the need to 'keep up to speed' on the 'conversation of the day'; whether it be politics, wars, pandemics, or the litany of ecclesial foibles and tragedies.
I used to pride myself on reading everything. I would read the left and the right, the traditional and the progressive, the clout chasers, the bullies, and the victims. I needed to absorb everything so that I could in some semi-deistic way be objective and have an informed opinion. Perhaps a worthy goal but for all the attempted objectivity there was an inescapable emotional investment, one which would take its toll.
Worse than the dopamine cycles was the sad realisation that to step away from the platform is to step away from the 'communities' on the platform. The medium is the massage; the relational matrix is instantiated in the means of communication. Unless the means of communication are intentionally transformed into different mediums, preferably real life ones, the reality is that walking away from the system means walking away from the people.
People I've argued with. People I've defended. People I've followed, become ‘mutuals’ with. Some whom I've inspired and many whom I've prayed for. It's not that I no longer care for them, and I know that if I were to reopen an account I could likely reconnect with many of them. But the swiping and scrolling away of the gift of time became something which I knew in my heart I could not continue.
And so there was silence.
It was unexpectedly tough at first.
The satisfaction of the relentless stream of information left a void.
I found myself replacing the ratatattat of angry thumbs on glass with the slower and more considered tap, hmm and poke of playing chess online. You see the streamers playing bullet chess (2 minutes or less on the clock) and at first you scramble haphazardly to make a move, any move before finding yourself caught off guard. A queen snatched. A knight sniped. Pawns disappearing off the board before your king, once again, is as forlorn as the last banana slowly browning on the kitchen counter.
Quickly you realise the strength in slowness.
Tap, tap, check.
Becomes:
Hmm... if.. then... there... yes.. and tap. The piece moves into place and the clock watches your opponent do the same.
I've found myself playing 15|10. Each player has 15 minutes, but every time they play their move they get 10 seconds back on the clock. A drawn out game could conceivably last 45 minutes.
45 minutes of pondering, of feeling, of strategizing and guessing. 45 minutes of intentionally relating to another human being, often with a randomised name and only their nationality to give any hint of personality - their flag by their username. Sometimes I would say GG - good game - whether I won or lost. Yet with time I've found myself recognising (mostly) when a game is about to end; the closing pattern which will lead to a win, loss, or draw can often be anticipated. Instead of saying GG I've found myself saying "Thank you for the gift of your time". Because time more than anything else is what has been the price of the game.
Silence often isn't truly absence, rather it's the breathing space in between things.
Logging off felt much like stepping outside of a highschool disco. The bright lights, sugar-filled drinks and hyped up social dynamics can be overstimulating and draining.
Stepping away from the loudness is not the same as stepping into quietness, but rather it offers an opportunity to notice different sounds.
The time which we spend gets spent nonetheless, and although I've been spending some of it on chess I've also found myself stepping into a greater degree of freedom.
Freedom to work, which for a priest means freedom to become more of who I am called to be. Freedom to rest, which for a Christian means freedom to become more of who we are called to be. Freedom to engage with God, which means freedom to become more of who we are called to be. Freedom to care, to feel, to explore, to discover, to be present with life (mostly) less mediated by a screen; which means... freedom to become more of who we are called to be.
Sometimes freedom is something which we exercise, we have to live out our freedom for fear that we shall concede our boundaries and be trapped once again by the pressures of our circumstances. Sometimes though freedom is something which happens to us, when things inevitably and inescapably occur to us, for us, and around us. For freedom is to live with a peace within life such as the world cannot give. That life for me includes the declining nature of my eyesight even as it includes the relentless duty and joy of being a father. Freedom as peace within our circumstances often means to open the eyes of our heart with gratitude to the one who made and loves us.
And opening the eyes of our hearts often means being slower.
It's an invitation to a pilgrimage which lingers in the silence, which notices the presence of God in the midst of things rather than being distracted from the presence of God by the things.
_
Text is a poor medium for indicating the space of silence between the last line and this.
There was silence and now we clickety-clack as fingers find thoughts and ease them across the screen for the first time in what feels like a long time.
The best way to describe it is as though the sense of hesitation has now passed, and a sense of permission has returned.
I'm not sure when I'll next write, or what the topic shall be.
I recently inherited a boxload of my grandfather's sermons. I glimpse lessons of love daily through parenting my son and loving my wife. My mind echoes with the potential of unwritten poems and there are topics and projects I know that people would like me to engage with - whether here or elsewhere.
Silence is the breathing space in between things.
And so for now the rhythm of fingers on keys comes to an end
clickety clack,
just like that.
With every blessing,
Samuel S. Thorp
p.s. Welcome to the new followers from Jeff’s Substack. Thanks for coming along for the ride, though please note I am a Priest in the Church of England and thus not a Roman Catholic - hence being married etcetera.
Good to hear from you again my Brother. Sounds like all is well. I look forward to the next one.