After writing Bringing Back Eden: Meditations of a Fly
Fisher, I now reflect upon what I wrote. I ask, What was I thinking? What was I trying to say? What story was
trying to emerge?
What emerged was a book about fly fishing that ended up
being very existential. I was painfully
repetitive asking those same old questions: Who am I? Where do I belong? Where is God? Does God intervene in my life? Where
is home, the Eden of my youth?
I repeatedly describe casting and casting as a reaching out,
hoping for some kind of a response from the fish (as though they are personally
responsible for my well being). I describe a deep inner loneliness that was
both a painful and beautiful experience, reminding me of my deepest longings.
In the beginning of the book I describe myself as a
disillusioned Christian. Yet how can I call myself Christian when I write and
talk more like an existentialist and I am more disillusioned than believing? I am more critical than affirming. I live in
angst more than in peace. Yet, I can’t throw it all away.
I describe feeling mesmerized by my own existence. I
question what was I doing walking around that pond in northern New Jersey all
by myself teaching myself to fly fish? What was I truly seeking? What did I
want? Did I exist merely on the banks of the pond or did Something else sustain me?
I live in and upon the tension of the questions and the mystery
of my life. I continue to question. I continue to cast into mysteries and I
invite others to do the same.
To me, this is what it means to be deeply and truly human.
