LMJ Word of the week - voussoir

Continuing my storytelling through looking for le mot juste....

We all know about the keystone, and how important it is.  The top stone in the arch, the piece that holds everything together, it is even (inexplicably) translated as "cornerstone" in some ancient texts.

The keystone is important - I agree.  The fascinating element of the arch is the piece that is under the most pressure to perform.  Pressure from both sides, equally distributed, the keystone brings to my mind the image of Samson pushing at the columns of the Philistine temples. 

Furthermore, our eyes naturally gravitate upwards (OK, maybe gravity is not the best word...), seeing the sweeping line of the opening, focusing on the symmetrical piece that pushes the two walls apart.  The beautiful keystone, perfectly cut, perfectly fitted, perfectly symmetrical.

And yet, the image is a little bit wrong.  An arch, after all, is more than just two vertical pieces and a horizontal piece.  The other side pieces lean in, pushing on the keystone.  What is happening is more like a reverse tug-of-war, with each piece multiplying the force of the one behind, adding pressure that will keep the keystone up.

The foundation blocks at the bottom of the arch - the springers - are important.   The keystone is of critical importance.



My rendition of an arch.  Voussoirs in yellow.

But the voussoir - each of the trapezoidal stones that form the transition between the two, those are the most often forgotten pieces in the arch.  These blocks make the dangerous move of leaning out of plumb, taking the chance of failure.  While the keystone is held on the sidelines until the critical moment, the voussoir take all of the risk.

And in the end, everyone marvels at the beauty of the whole arch, and look at that keystone!



My job - my career - is that of voussoir.  Yours is very likely the same.  We support the ones who get the glory.  We push, and take risks, and run a real chance of going SPLAT.  We step on the ledge, pushing the center of gravity over the edge, trusting that eventually the other side will support us; hoping that the other side is being built in the same way as we are.

And like the second level in a cheerleading pyramid, we take the risks without getting to fly.

Interestingly, the keystone is a specific voussoir.  Just one more wedge-shaped stone, carefully made to fit together with other equally carefully made stones. 

Yes. I am carefully made.



The corbeled vault is simply not as cool.
 Nothing but flat blocks everywhere.
 

And my function is important. 

My job, then, is important - to keep pushing out.  Keep stepping on the ledge.  Keep reaching for the other side. 

Today's definition: Voussoir - (n; pl. voussoirs - ) one of any wedge-shaped blocks used in forming an arch.  

The verb form (intransitive) is voussoired.... Or at least, it should be.

Let's go voussoir the hell out of life. Together.   Holding each other up.  Supporting each other.  Leaning in.


 

Laby-rinth, and repeat as desired

A year or so ago, I was teaching a class on prayer, and we agreed to meet in the park to visit a prayer labyrinth that was laid out there.  

The day could not have been any more beautiful.  It was one of those cool, sunny spring days that we all love New Orleans for.  And….

And, the day could not have been any more aggravating.  And it was getting worse.  It was a rough day at work, with bureaucratic frustrations building all day long.  I was running late, and the traffic on Magazine St. is always tough during rush hour.  Even as near as my workplace is to the park, there was just no way I was going to make it to the labyrinth by 5 pm.  I took the ‘short cut’ on the Fly, and promptly got stuck behind some... ahem, child of God, who had trouble with his multitasking - talking on the cell phone, driving, and beating his kid who had probably struck out in the baseball game.  For good measure, he stopped in the middle of the road to focus on the other things, rather than driving.

I continued to practice my Jesus prayer, trying to center myself on my relationship with my Creator, rather than his OBVIOUSLY flawed creation in front of me. 

It didn’t work.  When I arrived, I was mad at the entirety of creation.  Beyond mad.  Furious. 

My wife Kathe had arrived before I did, and in greeting her, I did not even make eye contact.  I am going to walk this maze, I am going to check this off of my list of things to do, and then move back to my life. 

I stopped to read the plaque.  Yes, it was a gift post Katrina.  Yes, there is no wrong way to walk the maze.  Sure, long history of gardens and mazes and labyrinths as part of

Ellipses

My name is Crorey Lawton, and I am a mid-level bureaucrat with the Federal government.

This is not how it was supposed to be. This is not the dream.  Even when I started down this burrocratic pathway, I recognized that I was selling out; at least it seemed like that. Listen to how it sounded at first:

My name is Crorey Lawton, and I am a mid level bure‎aucrat....and I am finishing my dissertation in Maya archaeology.

See the difference? The first one has a sense of finality‎. The second has an ellipsis. Those three dots are so important to the ego. They define who we are in ways that let the dust mote scream to the universe.

So when I got ‎booted unceremoniously from the PhD program at Tulane, I could no longer use that ellipsis. I was surprised at how much I missed it. It let me tell people that there was more to me. That I was worthy of consideration. That I was of note.

Losing the dots was harder than losing the three letters I had hoped to put behind my name. I had lost an essential part of who I defined myself to be, and its loss was something that I mourned deeply.

The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that the key to 'who we are' is held in those three dots. 

But....

But there is great joy, and even fun, in finding the ellipses in those around us.

Suzanne, a friend of mine, is a master at seeing the ellipsis in others.  She is a novelist, and so she is always looking at the cast of characters around her with an eye for what makes them unique. (Chicken/egg problem - does she see the unique, and is therefore a writer, or is it a developed tool?) So she speaks to the homeless guy outside her office, asking his opinion on last night's game, and the blossom of his personality opens like a flower under the sunlight of her questions.  

That, right there, is a magical moment.  He is no longer just the homeless guy.  Clyde is defined by his ellipsis, by those unspoken parts that make him special.

It makes me want to look carefully and see those around me in a different light.  That Tea Party co-worker that makes me grind my teeth every single day?  What does he do when he goes home?  Does he volunteer to coach little league?  Does he give every extra dime to feed kids at a foodbank?  Is he a novelist, or a closeted clarinetist?

The cashier.... the gas attendant at Costco.... the people around us all the time that we don't see.  What are their stories, and what are the pieces of their lives that make them special? Those who are closer have ellipses, too. 

Go, find out about somebody's ellipsis, because that is where their life is being lived. Finding that special-ness in others means that you get to share with them the wonder of who they are.

And it brings us closer together.