The Spiral Staircase

A big day for reading in the hottest apartment in Toronto.

After I finished Bedlam, I wandered over to my friend's bookcase to look for something to preoccupy me. It seemed I had caught a mild flu so the question of socks was out the window for today.

My friend has made the interesting decision to put all the in-house spirituality books on one shelf, the shelf directly at eye-level. Since I am at heart a browser and not a searcher, I picked a book by Karen Armstrong and took it with me back to the living room.

10 hours later, here I am book finished, sweating and a little hungry. I did actually make some noodles, and I did in the immortal words of Sheryl Crow "scrape the mold off the bread", I made regular toast though.

The book so good I ate moldy bread is called The Spiral Staircase: My Climb out of Darkness. It is Armstrong's personal account of the years, the career and the transformation of faith that followed her decision to renounce her vows at the age of 24 and leave the convent she had joined when only a 17 year old in in 1962.

Of course the book is not simply about leaving her faith. It is about regaining one's sanity after nervous collapse, living with failure, finding a vocation, and ultimately discovering a transformative faith and in my opinion a renewal of the self.

It is also about developing compassion, in a major way, but I will leave that for tomorrow's post which will doubtless be huge unless I have to actually spend time with my family who would probably like to see me.

For now I will leave you with the T.S Elliot poem that served as inspiration for Armstrong's journey, and is a fitting testament to all people who wrestle with lives that seem not to be a "broad, noble flight of steps", but a "twisted spiral staircase".

Ash Wednesday 1 by T.S ELiot

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is
nothing again

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessèd face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.