As I delved into class readings this afternoon, I came across a discussion of the sects of Islam, pausing as I read that Shi’a doctrine holds that the twelfth Imam (religious leader) will “at some point before the Day of Judgment, return as the Mahdi, the expected one, and will fill the earth with justice.”
There you have it, I couldn’t help thinking with a smirk. We’re all waiting.
My thoughts had conjured up this idea of their own accord, originally in reference to religion: Christians, Jews, Muslims; all waiting. The schizophrenic in me backtracked, however, when it heard that last phrase. Right, it said. We’re all waiting.
This is not a new thought for me by any stretch of the imagination, though this time, peculiarly, it had not originated out of impatience or frustration.
Waiting for someone or something to come or go, waiting for our own turn to come or go. Waiting to talk to someone or to hear from someone; to prove ourselves or for another to prove themselves. To confront something new, to wrap up, or to make amends. To grow up, or for others to grow up. For traffic, for pedestrians, for the line to move, for the next election. For appointments, for favors, for friends, for family, for food, for a coffee break, for Friday. For an opportunity, for that window opened once the door’s been closed. For plans or promises to be met or completed, for hopes and wishes to manifest themselves. We stand in the black of night, staring into the sky with our eyes peeled for that meteor shower that’s been forecasted. If we could just see one shooting star – just one. That will be enough.
In the mean time, though... what, bide our time and twiddle thumbs, distract ourselves for the sake of occupation?
Elie Wiesel’s The Gates of the Forest (if I recall correctly…) at one point describes two men, a young man and an older, more learned man, standing in a clearing of the woods, fervently willing themselves to be the spark that brings about change. It may come to nothing, but trying and failing, to them, is better than wasting time forever waiting.
There are so many different kinds of waiting, so many facets, that it seems impossible to summarize it so simply: we’re all waiting for something. Sometimes we can – and should – take action rather than sit passively and wait it out; other times, it’s best to be patient; in still other instances, perhaps it isn’t worth the wait. It’s all a matter of deciding which of those cases it is, though, isn’t it?
Sitting on a front patio in Tema, Ghana, this summer, and not yet accustomed to the typical Ghanaian dismissal of timeliness, I’d decided just that: waiting is inevitable, but I can decide when to wait and what is worth the wait.
Often enough, I guess, it doesn’t seem like waiting… we can live in and for the present, for better and/or for worse. Still, every once in a while, that feeling crops up, that waiting, that anticipation. Impatience, hope, fear, stoic fortitude…. It can come under any circumstances and in any form, but there it is.
Should I wrap up this nonsensical babbling with the over-the-top but expected “What are you waiting for?” …. No, no, that’s just too trite, too easy.
Hmm… ah, the clock in the library is still broken. They should get on that; it’s throwing me off.
No comments:
Post a Comment