Growing up Catholic, I delved just enough into the Old Testament to have indelibly impressed upon my soul some distant world where God was both awesome and terrible, and required horrendous things of those who loved him. Maybe it is the child who lives still shocked within me that sees in our new concrete-slab table (barrenly awaiting benches) a sacrificial alter every time I pass it, so many times each day. On the fringe of my thoughts I hear goats bleating, and slim knives sharpening, and can make out the ghostly shadow of Abraham, holding his eldest son firmly, gloomily by the shoulder. Is it the coming of winter that brings on these macabre thoughts? Whatever it is, I am reminded that there is a part of my soul still trying to understand these old stories -- still trying to understand the heart of the man who could bring himself kill his own beloved son at God's request. Or the heart of a God who could make such a request (whether he took it back or not.) There is a part of me still trying to understand the meaning, and purpose, of sacrifice. One of the main topics at our last PA meeting on December 1 was, of course, the location options of our intermediate site. Encinitas is not looking good so far. The most attractive, the most viable option right now would land us in San Marcos -- a 25-30 minute drive from the current site. The discussion that hummed around this news involved concerns about attrition due to the much longer commute (for some -- not for Meri -- though those 3 miles can be rough in high traffic I hear). And along with jokes about the new Brice Bus Business and a yoga studio in the parent's lounge, there was one consistent murmuring: Change. No matter where it is, what it is, no matter how attractive we make it, the transitional year involves the one thing that people fear most: Change. The Spring of our El Fuerte site is solidifying and taking shape more and more, but first we must creep into the Winter of our uncertain year. And deep within us all lies the primal fear: winter, darkness, death, the unknown... Change. And so here is where I'm coming back to the table.
When I look at the biblical story of Abraham being asked to sacrifice his first born son metaphorically (thank you, college English classes), I see that without willingly surrendering our attachment to that which is most precious to us, our own growth, our own expansion into higher consciousness is not possible. On the outer level, what could be more precious than one's own child? On the inner level, what could be more precious than one's own ego, one's own concept of "self"? It is the ego that fears, the ego that suffers at the thought of change. It is the ego that clings to what is known, safe, and predictable. What super-human act of courage it must take to offer that up. (Not permanently, of course, as that would make getting around in the world a bit of a challenge.) But how beautiful if we could follow our children in taking up our apples to boldly enter the dark and winding path -- trusting the voice that asks of us to do so. Trusting that the light that has never yet let us down will still be there to warm and welcome us, to give us more than we need.
Soon enough the weather will be warm, and there will be benches at our concrete slab table. And there will be family and friends gathered around it sharing laughter and good cheer. The macabre images will fade away along with apprehensions about uncertain futures. Because I believe in the beauty and necessity of our school. I believe in the power of our community to pull together to create. I believe that it is worth it for my daughter -- to unfold herself as a soul should, in the wise and compassionate rhythms of the living earth, with conscious souls to guide and walk with her. And I am willing to sacrifice my ego's attachments to comfort and predictability in order to stay with it.
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