Hidden Treasures

I’m so caught by this quote. Dare I let deep wells be opened within me? And is that what scares me most, or the possibility that others will see them when they are exposed? Will they really be beautiful? Will I? Am I?

So much of the time I have this inner dialogue running between what I’m thinking/feeling and then the voice that doubts or discounts such, that edits and censors, that is afraid of getting hurt, that doesn’t believe that what I think/feel is beautiful. I hate that. And…writing is a place that lets that voice come out – even if only in small portions and snippets.

On some level, I suppose, this is what blogging at least to some degree enables. I write and, in so doing, start articulating some of what stays buried deep inside much of the time. It’s a vehicle through which I can say some things that are usually only for me; its my own processing, my own catharsis. And others read it. Others see it. Others see me. Will I believe that to be beautiful?

Hidden Treasures. This implies something of significant value. Something worth searching for – sometimes endlessly, despite the temptation of futility and failure. What if I understood my writing (my words, my presence, my very life) as a treasure that I am searching for? One that is worth unearthing, blowing the dust of its long-buried lid, and exposing to the light for all to see?

As with many such thoughts, my brain instantly goes to either books or movies. The latter this morning: National Treasure with Nicolas Cage. A treasure hunter, he’s willing to stop at nothing to get to what he believes exists, though most people experience him as crazy; chasing a myth, a figment of his imagination, a nonexistent legend. Both films are nonstop adventure, edge-of-your-seat thrill rides. (And the significance of the 2nd film’s subtitle: Book of Secrets is not lost on me…) There’s nothing conservative or measured or safe about his compelling drive to find what’s hidden or buried. Why am I not willing to live similarly – for treasure far more valuable and, frankly, far less hidden?

The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a (wo)man found it, (s)he hid it again, and then in (her) joy went and sold all (s)he had and bought that field. Matthew 13:44

Could it be that the kingdom of heaven, at least in part, is hidden within me? Will I go out in joy – willing to risk everything to own that, possess that, and let it be seen? Will you? Feels risky. Feels scary. Feels important. Feels life-giving. Feels like all that matters, really.

If Henri Nouwen is right – and I believe Jesus to be – and deep wells of beautiful, hidden treasures exist within me, within us, then I best keep writing, digging, unearthing, breathing, being. You?