The Crucible

Teaching The Crucible today, a play I love, it occurred to me that even though it's likely John never loved Abigail, he must have made her feel that he did.  Whether it was their frantic clutches behind the barn, the furtive looks he threw up to her window when he was, as she says, "burning in his loneliness," or perhaps he even spoke words of love to her, he must have done something to make her believe.

I understand that she is unhinged, that her behaviors are inexcusable, that her desire to kill his wife and replace her is certifiable and that her threats to the other girls about bringing "a pointy reckoning that will shudder" them are reprehensible, but here is the piece I never thought about until today.  This is a girl who is alone--orphaned--living with an uncle who has no interest in children, who is only concerned about his own daughter because if she is witched it will ruin his reputation.  Abigail has seen her parents murdered, feels herself unwanted in her uncle's house, and has no real friends because the girls are all too afraid of her to have any real bond.  Add to that the affair she had with John and you've got the perfect storm for some serious mental illness, especially when you consider his total denial of their time together.

He sees her in Act I, flirts with her, allows the distance between them to close, acknowledges he has stood beneath his window in want of her, and then tells her three times to put it out of mind, that they never touched, that the physical relationship--the passion and heat and real feeling--they shared had never occurred.  He tells her to forget and erase the most important relationship of her life thus far, the one that opened her eyes and made her see the world for what it really was, the one that taught her who she wanted to be: passionate, engaged, wild, wanted, and--she thought--loved.

I don't think her actions are forgivable, but I do think his denial of their time together is equally cruel and inexcusable.  No matter what his reasons were for choosing to reconcile with Elizabeth--and let's face it, it could just be plain old fear at having to start over again under the strict Puritanical laws that would have crippled him emotionally--his denial that he ever shared those moments with Abigail points to a character more flawed than I had ever realized.  He uses his denial to absolve himself from any guilt at hurting her, and his lack of remorse is astoundingly selfish.  Should he have left his wife and children to be with the seventeen year old girl?  Probably not, but to tell her their relationship never occurred is to deny her the right to her story, to her truth, and so, today, I kind of get why she loses it.

No one has the right to take your story from you, and those who try--because they aren't comfortable with who they are in it--aren't comfortable with who they are at all, and who needs them?

Sister (in law)

My sister-in-law of the last ten years and I spent six hours talking tonight.  We had dinner and played with her beautiful daughter, we laughed and gave Eva O. a bath, and through it all, we talked.  I was as comfortable with her as I have ever been with anyone, and we were both honest and straightforward and held nothing back.

If my brother hadn't married her, I'd be tempted to snatch her up for myself.

Thank God for her in my life, for the strength and focus she possesses, for her utter lack of judgment, and for her complete faith in me and in my best interests.  May you all have someone as lovely in your life.

Therapy

Today I am starting therapy.  In about 45 minutes actually.  A lot of people hide behind this fact, pretend they aren't doing it, act like they have it all together, downplay their need for attentive and objective care, but I am not one of those people.

I simply cannot handle this section of my life alone.

There are always windows and doors available to us to look out of, to walk through.  I believe in answering the knock of my life when it comes calling on me, I believe in saying yes to help when it presents itself, and I believe in turning myself over to those who know better when I have hit the wall of being able to function on my own.  And I am there.

I am in no risk of harming myself, I do not have fatalistic thoughts, but I am terribly sad and disappointed and disillusioned and hurt.

I have my faith in God, I have my incredible family and friends, I have my beautiful dog, I have my belief that all will be well, but I also have an overwhelming sadness that nips at my heels with sharp and jagged teeth, tearing flesh and causing me to stumble, bleeding, down the hallway to my room each night.

So...now I have therapy.  Pray for me, world.  I need all the help I can get.

***

Went.  Talked.  Cried a little.  Feel better.  So much better.  SO much better than I ever thought I would feel after just telling my story to someone whose job it is to help me.  AMAZING.

Un-knowing

I keep replaying that scene in Dirty Dancing in my head, the one where pre-nosejob (and much cuter) Jennifer Grey tells Patrick Swayze she's scared of all kinds of things, but mostly she's afraid of walking out of that room and never feeling ever again in her whole life how she feels when she's with him.  I know that feeling.  Only in my movie, Johnny doesn't take me in his arms and make love to me.  In my movie, he smiles politely, says he's sorry in a way that makes it clear he has no idea the damage he's caused, and slowly pushes me out the door.  Into the rain.  Into the blackness.  Alone.

Enlightenment is a bitch, but no matter how awful I feel--and I do, jittery anxiously angrily near tears violently pissed off heartbrokenly awful--I'd still rather be the person who says at least I was willing to get hurt for the chance at real love.  At least I wasn't afraid.

Add to that the reappearance of the man I married.  My ex-husband and I have been friends since our divorce because neither one of us could bare to be out of each other's lives.  In the last three months, I have seen in him the man I married, the man I missed so much the last two years of our marriage when he was depressed and we weren't communicating.  And, seeing him again, has made me miss every minute of our time together that was good.  I miss dancing in the car with him and making up lyrics to songs we don't know and watching HGTV and cheering at KU football games and being easy with each other in all ways.  I miss him so much, my teeth ache.

I've always argued that blissful ignorance wasn't something I would ever want, but tonight I'll fucking take it.

Swings

The feeling of swinging, hands on the iron chains, feet pumping beneath the seat, never leaves me.  I inherently know that forward motion, that movement back and up, that excitement just before your jump and then the exhilaration of letting go--the closest we'll ever be to knowing what a bird feels as it dips and floats--and then the landing, usually harder than expected but never hard enough to keep us from getting back on.

Lately, I can't jump off the swing of my personal life.  I want to find ground, to land and stand and feel steady, thrilled to have flown but even happier to be upright, walking, anticipating the next adventure.  I want all of that, but everything I knew of the ground is gone and all I can see below the glide is pile after pile of ashes.  Letting go now would mean an endless free fall and I am terrified of that senseless and solitary meander.

I don't want these chains, I don't want to keep resisting the urge to jump, and I don't want to be on this damn thing a year from now, but it is hard to take the leap of faith that leaving this behind would require.

So I stay on the swing.  Moving mechanically, slicing air with exhausted legs, hands raggedly gripping the chains, eyes dry and cracking from the bitter wind that slaps my face with every upward tick.  I miss the feeling of flight, the weightless moments of infinite possibility, but I am too afraid to face them today.

Maybe tomorrow will be different...but maybe not.

Maybe

No matter what anyone else thinks, there are some things we need to feel like our most authentic selves, to feel strong and happy and known and seen.  While there may be other people--or whole factions of other people--who think the things you want and need are ridiculous or unimportant, they don't walk around in your head, they don't live your life, they don't feel what you feel.

Maybe you need to eat McDonalds breakfast every day for a month after a good friend moves away because you used to do that together and you need the ritual to help you stop missing them so much.  Maybe you need an hour alone after work to decompress--no tv, no conversation, nothing--just to let go of what happened at your job that day.  Maybe you need to stop counting calories and worrying about what you eat because doing so makes you nuts, so instead you just listen to the cues your body sends you, you work out when you want, eat what you want when you want, and embrace who you are regardless of weight or size.

And maybe you need a relationship with someone that no one else understands.  Maybe you need to talk to that shrew of a woman you work with whose voice makes you want to eat glass simply because she reminds you to live happy now so that you don't end up just like her.  Or maybe you need to be friends with your ex-husband because he is a good man who makes you laugh and helps you through bad nights and loves you still, despite the end of your marriage.

No matter what your 'maybe' is, be brutally honest with yourself.  This is your one and only life, and if you are doing something or not doing something because of what other people think you should or shouldn't do, find a quiet place or a good friend and work out what YOU want, what YOU need.  In the words of George Eliot, "it's never too late to be what you might have been," and it's never too soon to start living the life you were meant to live.

Excerpt

from Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow, Elizabeth Lesser

I am fascinated by what it takes to stay awake in difficult times. I marvel at what we all do in times of transition—how we resist, and how we surrender; how we stay stuck, and how we grow. Since my first major broken-open experience—my divorce—I have been an observer and a confidante of others as they engage with the forces of their own suffering. I have made note of how fiasco and failure visit each one of us, as if they were written into the job description of being human. I have seen people crumble in times of trouble, lose their spirit, and never fully recover. I have seen others protect themselves fiercely from any kind of change, until they are living a half life, safe yet stunted.

I’ve tried both ways: I have gone back to sleep in order to resist the forces of change. And I have stayed awake and been broken open. Both ways are difficult, but one way brings with it the gift of a lifetime. If we can stay awake when our lives are changing, secrets will be revealed to us—secrets about ourselves, about the nature of life, and about the eternal source of happiness and peace that is always available, always renewable, already within us.

For years I have sat in workshop rooms with people who do not want to go back to sleep. They are curious about those breezes at dawn. They hope the wind will fill their sails with courage, and with inner peace and outer purpose. Serious things, and not so serious things, are happening to these people. Some are sick and even dying; others are merely dealing with the terminal condition we call life. Some sense that an inner change is brewing, and they have been afraid to heed the storm clouds gathering in their hearts. Some have recently lost a job, or a loved one, or a fortune. Others are aware that whatever they have at this moment could be lost in the next, and they want to live as if they really know this.

In the spacious and safe atmosphere of a workshop, I have helped people grapple with questions like these: How can I stay awake even when it hurts? What might those secrets at dawn be? Why am I so afraid to slow down and listen? What will it take for my longing for wakefulness to become stronger than my fear of change? ... perhaps the most profound of the tools we have at our disposal is the simple act of telling our stories to other human travelers—in a circle around the fire, at the back fence with a neighbor, or at a kitchen table with family and friends. Since the beginning of history we human beings have gathered together, talking and crying, laughing and praising, trying to make sense of the puzzling nature of our lives. By sharing our most human traits, we begin to feel less odd, less lonely, and less pessimistic. And to our surprise, at the core of each story—each personal myth—we uncover a splendid treasure, a source of unending power and sweetness: the shining soul of each wayfarer.

Funny

Tom Petty, a sage I don't channel often, once sang, "most things I worry about never happen anyway."  I've spent a long time worrying about a slew of things, and recently a couple of them came to fruition in the oddest way.

It's funny, sometimes the things you worry about happen, and they don't kill you, they don't crush you, they hurt and sting and burn, you cry and cry and cry, but then you sleep long enough and find you can breathe again because the anxiety, the what if is gone and now it's just you and your life, two things you've always loved, waiting to see what's next.

Essential Facts

I have following sayings taped up around my desk at work:

Be present.

Look up from your life.

What you focus on expands.

Embrace change.

You cannot control what happens, but you can control how you react to what happens.

Over the past two years, I've gotten pretty good at some of these. Change doesn't scare the living hell out of me anymore, I recognize that this moment is the one I need to live in because the past is done and the future is beyond my control, and I know that my life is small in contrast to global ills and pains.

It is my life though, and so it does matter. It matters if I am sad or hurt, if I am in need or lonely. My life, though small, is the only one I have to live and therefore it is up to me to choose what that life looks like.

That's where the other two mantras (for lack of a better word) come in. It is damn hard to remember that focusing on the negative things in life only make them expand because the negative stuff is the most insistent when it shows up in my head. I don't lie in bed at night thinking, "gosh, I was awesome today," or "how great was that sunset!". I lie awake fixating on some dumb thing I said or how someone else's decisions may effect or hurt me. How lame is that? There is no one responsible for my happiness but me, so focusing on the things that make me happy should cause those things to expand, right? I'm going to give that more of a shot.

And finally, the last one, the grandaddy of them all. I cannot control what happens, but I can control how I react to what happens. Goodnight if that's not difficult to remember. But, it occurs to me that if I don't start putting that into practice, I may go stark raving nuts. See, I believe there is a plan for my life, and I believe that plan is divinely ordained, that who I am supposed to be is written in the book already and it is my job to learn enough, be humble enough, and work hard enough to be the best version of that woman as I possibly can be, and fixating on what may or may not happen in the future isn't going to make me any better,it isn't going to teach me anything (except perhaps how to dwell & I could already teach a class on that), and it isn't going to get me any closer to being the best version of myself.

So, today I vow to love myself enough to let go of all pretense about who I would be, what should happen, and when I will figure it all out.

In the words of Henri Frederic Amiel:    
“Let mystery have its place in you; do not be always turning up your whole soil with the ploughshare of self-examination, but leave a little fallow corner in your heart ready for any seed the winds may bring...”

Lesson, Someday, Learned

I've been reading a lot this summer, self-helpy type stuff that in years gone by I would have scoffed at, my nose turned up, literally thinking, "I don't need that hippy dippy, touchy feely garbage.  I don't know who's worse, those who write it, or those who read it!"

I can tell you now it was a huge mistake to wait so long to start trying to do what self-help books are made for: helping myself.

When I got divorced last summer, I knew I was making the right decision.  It was awful and sad and it broke my heart to hurt someone I love as much as I love my ex-husband (notice I'm saying love, not loved--there is no past tense--I still love him, just not in the way spouses love one another).  I realized, long before we split, that we needed and wanted fundamentally different things from a relationship, and that we had a toxic dynamic that was making us both sick.  No amount of counseling, arguing, prayer, or sheer stubborn hope was going to fix it.  I knew if I wanted us to both be happy, we couldn't manage that together.

Luckily, I hit the divorce jackpot and in the last year my ex and I have developed a friendship that was at the heart of our relationship, and we know we are better off in this configuration of us.

But (you knew a big one was coming, right?) even though I was the one who said we had to end it, even though I have never regretted it, even though I have always known it was the right thing to do, there was a whole lot of self-work that needed to be done in the aftermath, and I just wouldn't do it.  I pushed myself at work, I settled in to help my friends and students and family members with their own struggles, somehow believing that if I was strong enough for and helpful enough to them, my own shit would just disappear, cease to exist, my issues would deflate like so many carnival balloons.

Turns out, that's not how it works.

I had to get really quiet this summer, spend a lot of time alone, and yep, read the self-help books I have derided for years to realize that my stuff, my issues, don't make me a bad person, they're just the things I bring to the table like everyone else does.  And nothing I have gone through or dealt with is my own, it's the universal experience of human struggle that ties us all together and if we talked more about what we need, what we know, and what we fear, we may actually all start to stumble out of the darkness.

A friend asked me recently how I manage to shut off my head.  I am inwardly critical in a way that rivals Mommy Dearest, calling myself names and breaking myself down in ways that would make me slap someone who spoke that way to a friend.  I would never allow such negativity, and yet I push it on myself again and again.  But the trick I've learned, as I told my friend, is that I've taken to asking if any of the things I think--in the middle of my dark little tea-time of the soul moments--are true.  Would anyone who knows me and loves me think I am bad, dumb, stupid, moronic, childish, unworthy, beyond repair?  Would anyone who knows me and loves me allow anyone else to say those things about me?  And the answer, overwhelmingly, is no.  None of those things is true, and no one who loves and knows me would suggest that they are.  Even if I did something they didn't agree with or understand, they would never say those things about me because they would never pass judgment on me.  That's what loving someone means: to be free of judgment, to be supportive and even critical, but never to call names or deliberately hurt.

So, I have to learn to love myself that way.  It may be the hardest lesson I'll ever learn, but I'm worth it.

Patience

I have a good friend who, in times of crisis, swears by opening the nearest volume of poems and finding some form of answer or reprieve in whatever work you land on.  Happenstance and fate joining hands, a union of need and serendipity.  

Today two of my dearest friends began journeys, one spiritual and one physical.  In my struggle to know how to give them assistance, I tried out the aforementioned technique.  The book, New and Selected Poems Volume 2 of Mary Oliver.  The poem: Patience.  Imagine my utter shock to have wandered into those pages and come out not with a poem that is right for my friends, but one that is so utterly perfect for me.  

I struggle, often, with patience, with the letting go and letting God/the universe/the angels of our better nature.  I feel a deep joy when I wallow in some semblance of control, but of late I have noticed that is all it is--my control is nothing more than a charade, a glittery blue pool on the horizon of 110 degree day that, once approached, proves to be only sand.  So, today's poem is fitting in that I must try to stop controlling my own life, stop thinking there is a perfect word or thought or deed to accompany the events in my life and instead to breathe, to wait, to trust that what should be will be, whether I will it or not.

Patience, Mary Oliver

What is the good life now? Why,

look here, consider

the moon's white crescent

rounding, slowly, over

the half month to still another

perfect circle-

the shining eye

that lightens the hills,

that lays down the shadows

of the branches of the trees,

that summons the flowers

to open their sleepy faces and look up

into the heavens.

I used to hurry everywhere,

and leaped over the running creeks.

There wasn't

time enough for all the wonderful things

I could think of to do

in a single day. Patience

comes to the bones

before it take root in the heart

as another good idea.

I say this

as I stand in the woods

and study the patterns

of the moon shadows,

or stroll down into the waters

that now, late summer, have also

caught the fever, and hardly move

from one eternity to another.

35

This is the poem I want to live by from now on.

When Death Comes, Mary Oliver

 

When death comes

like the hungry bear in autumn

when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

 

to buy me, and snaps his purse shut;

when death comes

like the measle-pox;

 

when death comes

like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

 

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering;

what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

 

And therefore I look upon everything

as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,

and I look upon time as no more than an idea,

and I consider eternity as another possibility,

 

and I think of each life as a flower, as common 

as a field daisy, and as singular,

 

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth

tending as all music does, toward silence,

 

and each body a lion of courage, and something

precious to the earth.

 

When it's over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

 

When it's over, I don't want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened

or full of argument.

 

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

Checking the Next Box

This coming Sunday, the 17th, I will turn 35.  This means on every survey, magazine quiz, legal document, and medical form for the next nine years, I have to check the 35-44 box.

19-25? Fine.  No qualms about that.  26-34 was cool, too.  I didn't mind being anywhere in that sucker, but this new one...well...it's a lot to take in, that nine year span.  It's going to include 40, and I have to tell you that 40 sounds like an unreal number, something that doesn't make any sense, isn't possible.

Inside, in my little pink heart I feel about 17.  I still laugh at all the things that made me laugh then (Weird Science, Growing Pains, my parents), I still love a lot of the same music (The Smiths, James Taylor, Ani DiFranco), I still read and am blown away by the same books (Skinny Legs & All, Catcher in the Rye, the poetry of Allen Ginsberg), and I am still stunned to silence by the same miracles of nature (sunrise, late blooming flowers, starry night skies).

It is absolutely shocking to think that soon, I'm going to boxed in by a whole other set of expectations, ones that traditionally mean I should be more grown up, less engaged, more settled, less full of wonder.  I am the oldest I have ever been--obviously--but each day I feel more alive, more engaged, more sure of who I am and what I want from the world.

So, here's to checking the next box, to embracing the next phase of life, to believing that getting older means getting better.

Revelation

I figured out today that at the heart of every single thing I am anxious about, afraid of, nauseated and confused by, lies a deep, rich, three-pack a day fear of being alone.

That fear moved in a long time ago, dragging its dirty boots across my carpet, leaving thick stains that no steam or solvent can remove.  It took over rooms in my heart, throwing dark curtains up, burning its foul herbs in little ashcans, smoking out the sweetness that used to live here, buying up prime real estate from the hope and joy that lived side by side for years.

I am trying, desperately, to evict that fear.  I know, with no intended arrogance, that I am smart, funny, kind, and beautiful.  I believe these things to be true and so they are.  After all, all we have in this world are the things we believe in, so I guess I'd better stop believing in the ludicrous notion that I will be alone, right?

But where are the examples of strong, single women throughout history?  I mean, where are the ladies who--without any romantic relationship to speak of--found true happiness?  And, frankly, even if you find me those examples, I'm not going to be placated because I believe in the power of sharing my life with someone, I want that desperately, but I have NO control over whether or not it happens.  None.   And that, too, scares the living bejeezus out of me.

Okay, enough of this.  It is late, and fear is trying to call up all his friends--speculation, worry, and doubt--so I'm going to turn off all the lights and shut their party down.  Here's to trying, each and every day, to be a little less afraid.

Daze

There were many things I expected to be doing this summer, particularly writing, but it turns out that hasn't been happening so much.  In fact, the majority of my time has been spent reading, watching movies, and lounging by the local public pool.  I have worked in my classroom some, I'm house sitting for some friends, I've had some really wonderful dinners and lunches with colleagues and former students, but I haven't been terribly productive in the sense that I have produced anything.

And you know what?  I could care less.

Sometimes, it turns out, even the most well intentioned people with the loftiest of goals--well, okay, maybe not the loftiest--turn out to need to just stop.  To breathe.  To reconnect with what it is in them that makes them fundamentally who they are, and it turns out, for me, it's water, words, and movies.  They're a pretty great foray into my little mess.  There are other things that make up the sum total of who I am, namely the fact that I am a fiercely loyal friend and daughter and sister and aunt, a teacher who loves her job, and a woman who dreams of one day sharing her life with a good man, but all of that stuff has been on the back burner this summer.  Not because it isn't important, but because--when I pulled my head up from the daze that is every day life during the academic year--I realized that I am important, my mental health, my sense of self, my, well, me-ness matters, and so I'm getting back in touch with that.

Does that mean I'm lazy?  Unproductive?  Wasting a lot of time doing a lot of nothing?  Some may think so, but for me, this is the best summer I've had in years because there is no point, there is no pressure, there's just me and the sun and the words and the images I love, and we're all--it turns out, much to my total shock--doing just fine.

Quotations

I've been reading a lot this summer, and I'm sure there will be a post on that at some point, but for now, these are a few of the tidbits I'm chewing on.


"One man all by himself is nothing. Two people who belong together make a world." — Hans Margolius

“The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.”--Rumi

“Love is what we are born with. Fear is what we learn. The spiritual journey is the unlearning of fear and prejudices and the acceptance of love back in our hearts. Love is the essential reality and our purpose on earth. To be consciously aware of it, to experience love in ourselves and others, is the meaning of life. Meaning does not lie in things. Meaning lies in us.”--Marianne Williamson

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.--From "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver

 "Change happens when you understand what you want to change so deeply that there is no reason to do anything but act in your own best interest."--Geneen Roth

"What is to give light must endure burning."--Viktor Frankel

'It is time the stone made an effort to flower

time unrest had a beating heart,

it is time it were time.

It is time."--from "Corona" by Paul Celan

"Every universe, our own included, begins in conversation. Every golem in the history of the world, from Rabbi Hanina's delectable goat to the river-clay Frankenstein of Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel, was summoned into existence through language, through murmuring, recital, and kabbalistic chitchat -- was, literally, talked into life."--Michael Chabon, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay

"The thing about love is that we come alive in bodies not our own."--Calum McCann, Let the Great World Spin

"Ever morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision. You gone have to ask yourself, "Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?"--Kathryn Stockett, The Help

Summer Cold

I can't exactly name the ailment that has befallen me, but for the sake of argument we'll call it a summer cold.  I have been super sick the last few days and am hating it.  I'm chugging water like it's been deemed illegal, I'm running through pectin cough drops like their candy, and at this point I should own stock in Kleenex.

I'm on a Z-Pack, Sudafed, a brochial inhaler, Tessalon Pearls for my cough, Tylenol for pain, and I'm fairly addicted to bad movies by now.  As we speak, I'm watching Drive Angry, a particularly bloody Nicholas Cage film with pretty rotten dialogue, but at least Amber Heard is hot.

So, here's how I'm trying to get over the illness: reading, bad movies, and thinking about how much fun I have every time I see this sweet little girl.

Faith

Trying to let go of the need to control the universe is exhausting.  I spend half my day, it seems, trying to conform the world to my vision of how it should be rather than conforming myself to the reality of the world and that, according to GB Shaw, is a surefire sign that I am an irrational human being.  Pretty sure he's right.

Lately I've been asked to blindly trust that certain things are going to go well: finances, personal life, the health of loved ones.  As a woman of faith, I know there is a greater plan that has already decided these things, but as a woman of letters, I also wholeheartedly believe in the power of free will and so I am torn, most days, by the desire to trust and the fundamentally ingrained tendency to doubt and speculate.

I do not need proof of God to believe in Him, I feel His presence in my life and that is enough.  I see His acts and love in action in the world, and that is enough.  These things are, I suppose, my proof.  Where others see senseless acts of random kindness, I see God.  Where you might see a scientifically explainable situation, I say the science behind the situation is proof of something miraculous.

Albert Einstein said there were two ways of looking at the world: as if nothing is a miracle or as if everything is.  I am trying desperately to follow the latter.  But, as is the case of all fallible humans on this little blue planet, I trip up.  I get caught in the trap of wanting what I want right now, wanting my vision of the world to come true immediately, wanting the world, as aforementioned, to conform to me, even when I know such wants are ridiculous.

Troy Girsgonelle believes that being in love is chemical while loving someone is active, and not always pleasant.  That to truly love someone we must be willing to sacrifice our wants for the sake of what it is they need in the moment.  While it is easy for me to follow this logic in terms of those I love--I will always and without hesitation sacrifice for them, it is the right way and only way for me to behave (no judgment if you disagree, it's not for everyone--but I've been thinking a lot about how this applies to loving ourselves.  If I have a vision for what should be, what I actually believe will come to be, then maybe--just maybe--I ought to be willing to sacrifice my want of the culmination occurring now in exchange for loving myself enough to wait for things to happen as they must.

[Cryptic enough for you?  There are just certain aspects of my life I'm just not comfortable writing about on the interwebs.  However, I am grappling with these concepts, so they feel like good blog fodder.]

I guess my point here is that I'm wondering how to do it, to just believe that things will all work out for the best, to have faith not only that the universe will provide & that God has a plan, but that those provisions and plans mirror what it is I want.  Of course, I know that's not how it works.  The act of faith means not expecting what happens to follow your preconceived notions, but instead trusting, blindly.

So here's to trying not to see in the dark any more.  To breathing deep.  To saying yes.  To faith.

Neruda

Sonnet XVII, Pablo Neruda

I don’t love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or where from,
I love you simply, without complexities or pride;
I love you in this way, not knowing any other way of loving
but this, in which neither I nor you exist
so close that your hand on my breast is mine,
so close that your eyes close when I sleep.

Joplin Benefit

I've spent the last week planning this benefit; if you can make it, I'd love to see you.  Excellent music for a truly worthy cause.