"Who knows how to make love stay?
Answer me that and I will tell you whether or not to kill yourself.
Answer me that and I will ease your mind about the beginning and end of time.
Answer me that and I will reveal to you the purpose of the moon."--Still Life with Woodpecker
I like Mr. Robbins' writing. He's a bit of a smart ass and I mean that in the best way. He's clever. Any writing that actually makes me laugh out loud as I read silently to myself gets major kudos in my book. I remember reading Larry Shue's play The Foreigner and relishing in disbelief over the fact that a play was making me laugh so hard I bruised my tooshie falling off the couch.
"Commas of excitement wobbled in her tummy and question marks squirmed in there as well. Every once in awhile she felt as though she were sitting on an exclamation point."
Why the hell hadn't I thought of that? Classic.
I also find it inspiring when a book captivates me so much that I have to complete it in a matter of days. I'll always remember sitting in geometry class desperately trying to finish the remaining pages of my tattered copy of 1984 and vainly trying to get the kid talking at me in the desk opposite mine to shut their pie hole. They simply couldn't understand why I needed to read so badly.
But there are many that don't understand much at all.
"Essential insanities are those impulses one instinctively senses are virtuous and correct, even though peers may regard them as coo coo. Essential insanities get one in trouble with others. It is always preferable to be in trouble with others. In fact it may be essential."
I couldn't help but laugh over the fact that the princess was a vegetarian, a sexpot who'd recently sworn off men. I loved that she named her pet frog Prince Charming "after that son of a bitch who never comes through."
Once again, why the hell hadn't I thought of that.
I didn't desire a pet frog, though.
I love reading. I especially love reading well written books. And further still, I love reading books that are someone else's favorites. It always feels like a stolen glance into the window of their heart. I remember one prideful mongrel of a guy telling me his favorite book was The Alchemist. After I finished the book I couldn't believe what a romantic that kid secretly was. It was like reading that book helped me understand him better, which may have been why he wanted me to read it in the first place.
Sometimes the nuances of motives aren't as elusive as we like to believe they are.
The Psuedo had given me The Count of Monte Cristo, which would remain indefinitely one of my favorites for numerous reasons, not the least of which is it's an amazing novel.
Narcissus had given me Notes from the Underground and Dostoevsky, too, has remained one of my favorite, complex authors.
My first love opened my eyes to poetry, two loves gave me books I sadly had no taste for and of course there were those who never shared books at all.
They simply didn't care for reading.
Truth be told, Prince Charming didn't much care for reading either. Part of the significance of the book he shared was that it was the first one he had ever completed cover to cover.
And what an interesting book to choose.
What makes love stay?
Books have a way of communicating things we sometimes can't.
And that was fantastic.
I guess that's partly why I love writing so much.
Sometimes there's so much to say it seems even words fail.
But they certainly shed light on quite a lot.
And make guts quiver in those we least expect.
So I closed the book with a smile reveling over how enjoyable it was to finish one chapter so as to begin another. I knew I would take with me all that had transpired and all that hadn't. And I would leave behind memories that would linger, like my perfume after I'd already left the room.
Burberry London, Stranger.
But it would never smell on her the way it always had on me.
Which is why it was so irrisistible to you in the first place.
"May we be eaten by starving baby ostriches if we can't concoct a secret way to meet."
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Adieu, mon ami
"What makes love stay?"
Selflessness.
I don't know what's more sad: knowing he still reads what I write or the possibility that he stopped reading long ago. How are we to move forward from a lost love if part of us is still holding on to part of them?
Is that why we try and make love ferment after it ends so it is easier to leave behind?
But where then does the love go?
Do we just redirect their love towards another?
Or is their love theirs alone?
How do we fool our hearts into being satisfied with all that isn't?
There is something to be said for out of sight out of mind.
Mother always says that we want what we think about, that we care about what we make time for.
And I realized for my own sake not having contact with a lost love is what is best for me.
I never knew how to do that until this year.
I come from a selfless breed of woman who knows the loving sacrifice of putting your loved ones needs before your own.
No matter
what
the
cost.
That is dangerous.
Because that kind of selfless love needs to have self preserving boundaries.
It needs to not be wasted on the Abusers.
We need to not cast our pearls before swine.
We need to guard our hearts for out of it flow life.
We need not put anothers needs first when their will is not aligned with God's.
Ah.
That changes a few things doesn't it?
I have learned a lot this year.
One thing I've seen is that love is fleeting. It overwhelms. It chooses its victims and we don't have any damn control over it. Love is not determined by how the one being loved responds to love.
I love for loves sake. I love in spite of the cowards and the undesirables.
Love cannot strangle, when it does the victim finds a way to escape.
And finds a gullible princess to escape with.
Love is inconsistent. It wanes. It fades. It's fickle.
But for love to stay it must be selfless.
With selfishness love will always find another, more beautiful, more talented, more doting, more amorous, more fulfilling counterpart.
When love wanders you have to stop and look in the mirror and ask why.
Some may sweep it under the bed, never to be examined again, for fear of discovering what lies within.
But love does not delude.
It reveals. It enlightens.
It does not deceive, it does not creep and sneak, it is not half way.
It does not lay next to one heart and long for another.
Love releases.
And that is why I deleted all the texts and the photos and the voicemails. Those were the hardest to part with. For me, the voice of a loved one has always played a close second of delight to seeing their face. But I knew I'd remember all that was spoken even though I may never hear their voice again.
And I needed to put it all aside and remember not the former things so that this new thing that is being fashioned can actually happen.
I have to get out of my own way.
I have to stop feeding a love that doesn't belong to me.
The only way to kill the flesh is to starve it.
And damn does that sting.
I hate starving.
I want the warm comfort of familiarity.
I want to see the love dripping from those dark eyes, looking at me like I'm the goddess of their dreams.
But this is a season of dying love.
Because what's good for the goddess ain't good for the gent.
It may not even be good for her either.
She's pretty dumb when it comes to her heart.
Thankfully, she had yet to keep all she thought she had wanted.
Selflessness.
I don't know what's more sad: knowing he still reads what I write or the possibility that he stopped reading long ago. How are we to move forward from a lost love if part of us is still holding on to part of them?
Is that why we try and make love ferment after it ends so it is easier to leave behind?
But where then does the love go?
Do we just redirect their love towards another?
Or is their love theirs alone?
How do we fool our hearts into being satisfied with all that isn't?
There is something to be said for out of sight out of mind.
Mother always says that we want what we think about, that we care about what we make time for.
And I realized for my own sake not having contact with a lost love is what is best for me.
I never knew how to do that until this year.
I come from a selfless breed of woman who knows the loving sacrifice of putting your loved ones needs before your own.
No matter
what
the
cost.
That is dangerous.
Because that kind of selfless love needs to have self preserving boundaries.
It needs to not be wasted on the Abusers.
We need to not cast our pearls before swine.
We need to guard our hearts for out of it flow life.
We need not put anothers needs first when their will is not aligned with God's.
Ah.
That changes a few things doesn't it?
I have learned a lot this year.
One thing I've seen is that love is fleeting. It overwhelms. It chooses its victims and we don't have any damn control over it. Love is not determined by how the one being loved responds to love.
I love for loves sake. I love in spite of the cowards and the undesirables.
Love cannot strangle, when it does the victim finds a way to escape.
And finds a gullible princess to escape with.
Love is inconsistent. It wanes. It fades. It's fickle.
But for love to stay it must be selfless.
With selfishness love will always find another, more beautiful, more talented, more doting, more amorous, more fulfilling counterpart.
When love wanders you have to stop and look in the mirror and ask why.
Some may sweep it under the bed, never to be examined again, for fear of discovering what lies within.
But love does not delude.
It reveals. It enlightens.
It does not deceive, it does not creep and sneak, it is not half way.
It does not lay next to one heart and long for another.
Love releases.
And that is why I deleted all the texts and the photos and the voicemails. Those were the hardest to part with. For me, the voice of a loved one has always played a close second of delight to seeing their face. But I knew I'd remember all that was spoken even though I may never hear their voice again.
And I needed to put it all aside and remember not the former things so that this new thing that is being fashioned can actually happen.
I have to get out of my own way.
I have to stop feeding a love that doesn't belong to me.
The only way to kill the flesh is to starve it.
And damn does that sting.
I hate starving.
I want the warm comfort of familiarity.
I want to see the love dripping from those dark eyes, looking at me like I'm the goddess of their dreams.
But this is a season of dying love.
Because what's good for the goddess ain't good for the gent.
It may not even be good for her either.
She's pretty dumb when it comes to her heart.
Thankfully, she had yet to keep all she thought she had wanted.
Friday, October 29, 2010
No Freaking Way
I've never been one of the unfortunates who have trouble sleeping.
When I was little my Mother requested afternoon kindergarten because I slept in.
I've always slept a lot.
I'd sleep ten hours a night if time permitted.
But last night I didn't sleep more than a wink.
That has happened to me very few times, all at seemingly poignant moments in my life.
The first time was when I was falling in love and I stayed up all night watching Magnolia and reading the Ee Cummings poetry book my theatre teacher had given me as a graduation gift.
Another night was when a kid I barely knew wrote me a beautiful love song and overcome by the outpour of infatuation I was unable to sleep and wrote a poem that was one of the first pieces I genuinely felt proud of.
The other was the night I felt the Spirit whisper softly that it was indeed over and he, unable to sleep as well, called in the middle of the night and we had what was to be the beginning of the Longest Goodbye.
And so tonight, awaking from a brief sleep and frightful dream, I began reading the first book Prince Charming had finished cover to cover and found myself dismayed when hours later I had to get ready for work.
Something about insomnia stirred unceremonious thoughts in my brain opening doors into untapped vortexes, allowing me to see things for possibly the first time.
And so on this eve (or morn, whichever you prefer) I saw the trueness of our unfinished sort of love story and also my acceptance that the whole thing was simply not enough.
"Goddamn it a princess deserves better than this."
And so it began.
And I had no freaking clue the comedy Fate had in store.
I went into work at the store that's not even my home store that I'm only working at for a few months, that's a total fluke I even happen to be working there at all. And who of all whose should come in? But the ever elusive Mr. Dreamy. During the summer Mr. Dreamy had come into my old store maybe a couple times a month and every time he happened to come in I fell all over myself trying to think of things to say to him while I got him his tall black coffee. The first time I saw Mr. Dreamy I was on my break eating a sandwich and when he walked in the door he looked so much like the dreaded Narcissus that I nearly choked on my egg salad. I called my Mom to tell her what had happened and she said, I can just see the tombstone now, 'woman dies from choking on sandwich upon seeing beautiful man.'
A humorous beginning to any sort of relationship that may ensue, no doubt.
I had the perfect segway too because my play was going to go up soon and I figured I'd give him a flyer to my show. Yet as Fate would comically have it, the times he would actually come in I was out of flyers. Once he was sitting outside and I thought I'd bring him one and when I went out to hand him one he'd already taken off.
It's just not meant to be, I told myself.
And that was fine.
A princess always has her eye on more than one prince.
So today, after my night of sleep deprivation and literary indulgence, this Mr. Dreamy comes through my Starbucks doors. And not only is it happenstance to be running into him again at this new locale after all these months but he seems just as excited to see me as I am to see him. Maybe he was just making polite conversation at the register. Maybe it was just amusing seeing me in a new element after all this time. But something in my feminine intuition told me this one, this one saw me with eyes similar to the ones who viewed me like I was a hot fudge sundae.
He sat with his laptop at the table across from my register and I swear I saw out of the corner of my eye his lips fashion into a smile when I told some customer I liked my men like I liked my wine: dark and strong.
However much time later I was standing in line, ordering my drink to take my break and reading once again the book I'd been torn prematurely from this morning.
As I began walking away from the register, there he was standing beside me. And placing a hand on my back reminiscent of Prince Charming and his lingering touch he told me he was taking off. Something in his touch stunned me; we'd talked maybe four times in the past four months and here he was reaching out to me with the familiarity of a long lost lover. It, too, reminded me of Prince Charming and how comfortable and at ease we'd been around each other. You took some of the food I had sitting on my lap without even asking me, I told him once. It was like we were already lovers.
And now this stranger, as if sensing the cosmic alignment of our paths crossing once again felt the need to connect with me before he left.
This is so funny, I said nervously.
Yeah, I live just down the street, he informed me.
Then he uncandidly snuck a look from rhinestone necklace to ballet flat shoes.
I blushed at being taken in by this stranger.
I'll see you around, he said as he backed up towards the door.
And I couldn't believe on this particular day, when my hair and makeup were particularly flawless, and I'd awoken with a resolved resoluteness and he had seemed merely a lost fantasy of months prior,
this new Prince and I sparked.
No freaking way.
When I was little my Mother requested afternoon kindergarten because I slept in.
I've always slept a lot.
I'd sleep ten hours a night if time permitted.
But last night I didn't sleep more than a wink.
That has happened to me very few times, all at seemingly poignant moments in my life.
The first time was when I was falling in love and I stayed up all night watching Magnolia and reading the Ee Cummings poetry book my theatre teacher had given me as a graduation gift.
Another night was when a kid I barely knew wrote me a beautiful love song and overcome by the outpour of infatuation I was unable to sleep and wrote a poem that was one of the first pieces I genuinely felt proud of.
The other was the night I felt the Spirit whisper softly that it was indeed over and he, unable to sleep as well, called in the middle of the night and we had what was to be the beginning of the Longest Goodbye.
And so tonight, awaking from a brief sleep and frightful dream, I began reading the first book Prince Charming had finished cover to cover and found myself dismayed when hours later I had to get ready for work.
Something about insomnia stirred unceremonious thoughts in my brain opening doors into untapped vortexes, allowing me to see things for possibly the first time.
And so on this eve (or morn, whichever you prefer) I saw the trueness of our unfinished sort of love story and also my acceptance that the whole thing was simply not enough.
"Goddamn it a princess deserves better than this."
And so it began.
And I had no freaking clue the comedy Fate had in store.
I went into work at the store that's not even my home store that I'm only working at for a few months, that's a total fluke I even happen to be working there at all. And who of all whose should come in? But the ever elusive Mr. Dreamy. During the summer Mr. Dreamy had come into my old store maybe a couple times a month and every time he happened to come in I fell all over myself trying to think of things to say to him while I got him his tall black coffee. The first time I saw Mr. Dreamy I was on my break eating a sandwich and when he walked in the door he looked so much like the dreaded Narcissus that I nearly choked on my egg salad. I called my Mom to tell her what had happened and she said, I can just see the tombstone now, 'woman dies from choking on sandwich upon seeing beautiful man.'
A humorous beginning to any sort of relationship that may ensue, no doubt.
I had the perfect segway too because my play was going to go up soon and I figured I'd give him a flyer to my show. Yet as Fate would comically have it, the times he would actually come in I was out of flyers. Once he was sitting outside and I thought I'd bring him one and when I went out to hand him one he'd already taken off.
It's just not meant to be, I told myself.
And that was fine.
A princess always has her eye on more than one prince.
So today, after my night of sleep deprivation and literary indulgence, this Mr. Dreamy comes through my Starbucks doors. And not only is it happenstance to be running into him again at this new locale after all these months but he seems just as excited to see me as I am to see him. Maybe he was just making polite conversation at the register. Maybe it was just amusing seeing me in a new element after all this time. But something in my feminine intuition told me this one, this one saw me with eyes similar to the ones who viewed me like I was a hot fudge sundae.
He sat with his laptop at the table across from my register and I swear I saw out of the corner of my eye his lips fashion into a smile when I told some customer I liked my men like I liked my wine: dark and strong.
However much time later I was standing in line, ordering my drink to take my break and reading once again the book I'd been torn prematurely from this morning.
As I began walking away from the register, there he was standing beside me. And placing a hand on my back reminiscent of Prince Charming and his lingering touch he told me he was taking off. Something in his touch stunned me; we'd talked maybe four times in the past four months and here he was reaching out to me with the familiarity of a long lost lover. It, too, reminded me of Prince Charming and how comfortable and at ease we'd been around each other. You took some of the food I had sitting on my lap without even asking me, I told him once. It was like we were already lovers.
And now this stranger, as if sensing the cosmic alignment of our paths crossing once again felt the need to connect with me before he left.
This is so funny, I said nervously.
Yeah, I live just down the street, he informed me.
Then he uncandidly snuck a look from rhinestone necklace to ballet flat shoes.
I blushed at being taken in by this stranger.
I'll see you around, he said as he backed up towards the door.
And I couldn't believe on this particular day, when my hair and makeup were particularly flawless, and I'd awoken with a resolved resoluteness and he had seemed merely a lost fantasy of months prior,
this new Prince and I sparked.
No freaking way.
Insomnia
I had this dream we both worked at a coffee cart, the outdoor kind. We must have been in some park or something. And I was praying aloud for some reason and I thanked God for bringing you into my life and you interjected, Except we screwed that one up really bad. Oops. Then we both started laughing so hard the lattes stopped getting made.
I also remembered something you'd said to me that I'd forgotten.
You would get bored with me.
Mother has always told me that men tell us how they are, what they're about, their insufficiencies, and we delusional females fail to hear it when these things are said. Some past ones that jumped to my mind also included,
I just don't think I'm what you're looking for.
I'm afraid I'm not ready for a relationship.
And at two in the morning, having awoken from my dream I decided right then and there I guess I'll take you at your word.
I probably would get bored with you.
Afterall, I have experienced a lot. I've been through quite a bit in my sheltered NW life. And I'd need a match that could keep up with me and that's no small feat, let me tell you. I'm thinking I can be pretty damn exhausting. Just ask my parents, they could probably vouch for it.
And I really don't think I'm ready yet for such a frighteningly committed stage of life anyway. I quite like my freedom, however financially limiting my life as a barista may be. I don't care about money the way I used to anymore.
Hell I was ready to join the Peace Core if that Kid had asked me to go with him. It certainly wouldn't have been the best lighting for my red lips and sparkles but I didn't care. I just wanted to be around the idiot I loved.
I'm pretty stupid that way.
Priority: Love.
Backseat: Common sense.
But thankfully God knows better than I and living in a hut in Africa with the Indecisive King wasn't His best for me.
Halle-frickin-lujah.
And I guess you weren't either.
Sucks to be you.
But like the self that walked my dreams I am thankful He brought you into my life.
However big of a moron you turned out to be.
But it's alright.
As the song goes, don't think twice.
He's not through cooking you either.
We're all just simmering in the crockpot.
Some of us just cook a little quicker on high.
I guess that's why I'm too hot to handle.
I also remembered something you'd said to me that I'd forgotten.
You would get bored with me.
Mother has always told me that men tell us how they are, what they're about, their insufficiencies, and we delusional females fail to hear it when these things are said. Some past ones that jumped to my mind also included,
I just don't think I'm what you're looking for.
I'm afraid I'm not ready for a relationship.
And at two in the morning, having awoken from my dream I decided right then and there I guess I'll take you at your word.
I probably would get bored with you.
Afterall, I have experienced a lot. I've been through quite a bit in my sheltered NW life. And I'd need a match that could keep up with me and that's no small feat, let me tell you. I'm thinking I can be pretty damn exhausting. Just ask my parents, they could probably vouch for it.
And I really don't think I'm ready yet for such a frighteningly committed stage of life anyway. I quite like my freedom, however financially limiting my life as a barista may be. I don't care about money the way I used to anymore.
Hell I was ready to join the Peace Core if that Kid had asked me to go with him. It certainly wouldn't have been the best lighting for my red lips and sparkles but I didn't care. I just wanted to be around the idiot I loved.
I'm pretty stupid that way.
Priority: Love.
Backseat: Common sense.
But thankfully God knows better than I and living in a hut in Africa with the Indecisive King wasn't His best for me.
Halle-frickin-lujah.
And I guess you weren't either.
Sucks to be you.
But like the self that walked my dreams I am thankful He brought you into my life.
However big of a moron you turned out to be.
But it's alright.
As the song goes, don't think twice.
He's not through cooking you either.
We're all just simmering in the crockpot.
Some of us just cook a little quicker on high.
I guess that's why I'm too hot to handle.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Seized by the power of a great affection
I have a hard time seeing things in black and white.
I guess I'm what you might call a grey person.
It does bring out my eyes, after all.
Part of the reason I think I'm so incapable of being resolute about things is that if it weren't for a deviation from the accepted norm for behavior I wouldn't exist.
I was the result of a divorce and a remarriage.
Growing up with a religion that teaches the sin that is divorce I had a bit of an existential crisis wondering if I should even be here. And I thought about my brother and how he only exists because of both of his parents first marriage, who each went on to marry other people and have other kids. And then those kids married and also had kids.
And then my head starts to spin.
My father used to always say that things are black and white; that they are for God or against Him.
I always thought that seemed rather harsh.
And I also have a hard time accepting that.
If divorce is a sin, if God hates divorce (a la Malachi 2:16) then was it a mistake my Mother got a divorce? And if her divorce was such a great sin, does that mean I was a mistake, that my existence was a great sin? And if my Mother was always meant to be with my Father and her first marriage was the error does that mean my brother wasn't meant to be born? And what does that say for his wife and two kids? Were they some cosmic error or in God's plan all along?
How can things be black and white when my entire family and extended family only exist because of grey areas? It certainly made it hard for me to accept that things had to be because that was the way they should be. Who's to say what someone should or should not do when clearly through every fumbling faulty step God is able to work all things for His good. One of my girlfriends got pregnant and is raising the baby alone and I'm convinced he was brought into the world for some great purpose. Cynics sneer that she merely sinned and is reaping what she had sown but I see an opportunity for great love and a changed life. I refuse to accept things are black and white. And that's why I know that sometimes we can make scary choices, rebel from all we've accepted as right and wrong and listen to the Spirit within who orders our steps more than any dogma that instills imprisoning fear in our hearts.
I googled divorce and came across some disheartening things. One site under the headline The Bible has the answers, we'll find them for you! wrote: Others claim that abuse (spousal or child) is a valid reason for divorce even though it is not listed as such in the Bible. While this may very well be the case, it is never wise to presume upon the Word of God.
Right. It's never wise to presume upon the Word of God. Not even if you're bleeding and bruised. Clearly your body as the temple of the Holy Spirit was created to be at the mercy of the one joined to you in holy matrimony, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, through abuse and neglect, through isolation and death.
Amen.
I thought about the Alaskan who was treated with such disdain by his whole family after his divorce. They didn't even want to hear about everything he'd gone through. All they saw was the black and the white, the sin of his decision. And they refused to see the broken man underneath the calm complacency. No wonder he ran away to the mountains.
In fact the more I thought about him the more amazed I was that he even went through with the divorce. In the Christian community it is far more acceptable to remain in an unhappy, unhealthy, controlling marriage than to accept the error that was marrying too young or in hasty misguided actions, likely out of the will of God, and getting a divorce. Yet I would presume (from the people I know, my parents generation and my own) that the majority of these so called black and white believers had premarital sex, which of course is also under the headliner of sin hated by God.
Why does the mass populous of people find it so easy to disregard one sin and inflate another?
I don't think our God is a black and white God. If He were, nearly all of the great men in the Bible would have been struck down by lightening and never given the chance to fulfill the plan God had in store for them. David and Bathsheba would have been stoned, Moses never would have parted the red sea after killing the Egyptian, Jonah would have been swallowed by the fish instead of being spit out.
Why are the characters in the stories we read forgiven and our friends and family labeled as the unforgivable sinners?
Haven't we learned anything from all the damn church we sit through?
Good grief.
I can't speak for what someone else should or shouldn't do. I freaking hate that word! Should.
We need to do what gives us peace. We need to do what we've prayed about and been prompted to do. We need to trust our heart and our gut and listen to the little voice inside of us and stop disregarding it because it frightens us.
Things happen for a reason.
Mountains are tossed in the sea when we believe they will be.
Black and white can shift to grey when we swallow our pride and realize we're human.
We err.
And He is gracious.
And amazing things begin when we open the new chapter and allow ourselves to fall right in.
He is moving.
In spite of you.
In spite of everyone.
And regardless of your move.
He's already got a back up plan.
I guess I'm what you might call a grey person.
It does bring out my eyes, after all.
Part of the reason I think I'm so incapable of being resolute about things is that if it weren't for a deviation from the accepted norm for behavior I wouldn't exist.
I was the result of a divorce and a remarriage.
Growing up with a religion that teaches the sin that is divorce I had a bit of an existential crisis wondering if I should even be here. And I thought about my brother and how he only exists because of both of his parents first marriage, who each went on to marry other people and have other kids. And then those kids married and also had kids.
And then my head starts to spin.
My father used to always say that things are black and white; that they are for God or against Him.
I always thought that seemed rather harsh.
And I also have a hard time accepting that.
If divorce is a sin, if God hates divorce (a la Malachi 2:16) then was it a mistake my Mother got a divorce? And if her divorce was such a great sin, does that mean I was a mistake, that my existence was a great sin? And if my Mother was always meant to be with my Father and her first marriage was the error does that mean my brother wasn't meant to be born? And what does that say for his wife and two kids? Were they some cosmic error or in God's plan all along?
How can things be black and white when my entire family and extended family only exist because of grey areas? It certainly made it hard for me to accept that things had to be because that was the way they should be. Who's to say what someone should or should not do when clearly through every fumbling faulty step God is able to work all things for His good. One of my girlfriends got pregnant and is raising the baby alone and I'm convinced he was brought into the world for some great purpose. Cynics sneer that she merely sinned and is reaping what she had sown but I see an opportunity for great love and a changed life. I refuse to accept things are black and white. And that's why I know that sometimes we can make scary choices, rebel from all we've accepted as right and wrong and listen to the Spirit within who orders our steps more than any dogma that instills imprisoning fear in our hearts.
I googled divorce and came across some disheartening things. One site under the headline The Bible has the answers, we'll find them for you! wrote: Others claim that abuse (spousal or child) is a valid reason for divorce even though it is not listed as such in the Bible. While this may very well be the case, it is never wise to presume upon the Word of God.
Right. It's never wise to presume upon the Word of God. Not even if you're bleeding and bruised. Clearly your body as the temple of the Holy Spirit was created to be at the mercy of the one joined to you in holy matrimony, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, through abuse and neglect, through isolation and death.
Amen.
I thought about the Alaskan who was treated with such disdain by his whole family after his divorce. They didn't even want to hear about everything he'd gone through. All they saw was the black and the white, the sin of his decision. And they refused to see the broken man underneath the calm complacency. No wonder he ran away to the mountains.
In fact the more I thought about him the more amazed I was that he even went through with the divorce. In the Christian community it is far more acceptable to remain in an unhappy, unhealthy, controlling marriage than to accept the error that was marrying too young or in hasty misguided actions, likely out of the will of God, and getting a divorce. Yet I would presume (from the people I know, my parents generation and my own) that the majority of these so called black and white believers had premarital sex, which of course is also under the headliner of sin hated by God.
Why does the mass populous of people find it so easy to disregard one sin and inflate another?
I don't think our God is a black and white God. If He were, nearly all of the great men in the Bible would have been struck down by lightening and never given the chance to fulfill the plan God had in store for them. David and Bathsheba would have been stoned, Moses never would have parted the red sea after killing the Egyptian, Jonah would have been swallowed by the fish instead of being spit out.
Why are the characters in the stories we read forgiven and our friends and family labeled as the unforgivable sinners?
Haven't we learned anything from all the damn church we sit through?
Good grief.
I can't speak for what someone else should or shouldn't do. I freaking hate that word! Should.
We need to do what gives us peace. We need to do what we've prayed about and been prompted to do. We need to trust our heart and our gut and listen to the little voice inside of us and stop disregarding it because it frightens us.
Things happen for a reason.
Mountains are tossed in the sea when we believe they will be.
Black and white can shift to grey when we swallow our pride and realize we're human.
We err.
And He is gracious.
And amazing things begin when we open the new chapter and allow ourselves to fall right in.
He is moving.
In spite of you.
In spite of everyone.
And regardless of your move.
He's already got a back up plan.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Hey Stranger
Someone walked into my Starbucks today and I took in a quick breath of excitement when I thought it was you. I thought you'd surprised me and were magically walking through those doors to give me a big hug and see my sparkling face.
Of course, it turned out it wasn't actually you and I sighed a bit in disappointment.
But I don't know why I was so convinced that it was you.
I guess sometimes when we think too much on any one thing we start to believe it's somewhere when it isn't.
Our minds are silly that way.
I started the book.
Reading the first page I laughed out loud in that loud way I do and someone near me in the library shot me a dirty look.
I smiled back at them and continued reading.
Somehow I knew you'd love that as much as I did.
The dedication includes: To everybody whose letters I haven't answered.
And since I'd already decided to write this, that seemed pretty damn ironic.
I love the happenstance that is life.
I also thought, Hey, what happened to my letter you were supposedly working on?
In addition to a pony and a take two, I claim ownership of said unwritten letter.
I always get what I want, after all.
At least, I like to pretend that I do.
I seem to have entered this new stage of contentment in actually relishing in the unknown.
My grandmother asked me the other night if I'd ever thought about going into management at Starbucks.
I nearly choked on my wine.
I still haven't the foggiest notion of what it is I want to do but I certainly pray after all these years and all these jobs that it doesn't include Starbucks management.
It certainly would be pretty damn hillarious though, don't you think?
My new manager is so delightfully mellow. I think he is a kindred spirit and I definitely think I was brought to the right location. There's a comfort in feeling relaxed around my boss.
It's very rare to find and definitely something I miss when it's absent.
But there are a lot of things that are missed when they're not around.
I also had this revelation recently that we each must be longing for the same confirmation that the other is genuinely alright. Maybe that's why I hallucinated that customer was you because for me, seeing is believing. But I also know that what is best for me isn't always what's best for someone very different from me. But that's something I figured out a long time ago so even if my inner little girl occassionally stomps her feet at not seeing her prince the woman in me believes the best and knows He's in control.
My mother seemed to understand that you must feel some responsibility for me. And I decided that made me feel loved. She also incitefully declared, that's what you're missing most, when I shared that for the first time I'd allowed myself to be the many layers I am and somehow you'd embraced every bitchycrazynaughtyvulnerablesweetness of it. I also realized with everything I've gone through in my own life the circumstances of the situation hit a little close to home. And that made me want to talk to you even more. It's hard to not have an opinion about something that parallels my own life.
But that also means I'm undeniably biased.
But I guess if we're honest, we all are.
I wanted to say I'm surprisingly happy.
And I miss your face every day.
And I care for you deeply.
And I know everything will be worked for His good.
I heard someone say something like If we knew what God was planning for us we'd agree with Him that we should be right where we're at while He's preparing it.
And I thought that was very true.
And I also found it very comforting that all the really savvy men in the Bible, men like Moses and David, committed wretchedly awful sins yet by Grace they were able to rise above them and do great things in spite of themselves.
And maybe in some backwards way, they wouldn't have risen to such great heights if they hadn't started in really dark shadows.
It was just a thought.
One of the many I'd share if I could.
But I know you already know that.
And one day, soon, I hope I can tell you all that's been bouncing around in my head.
I'd certainly love to hear all that's swimming in yours.
Of course, it turned out it wasn't actually you and I sighed a bit in disappointment.
But I don't know why I was so convinced that it was you.
I guess sometimes when we think too much on any one thing we start to believe it's somewhere when it isn't.
Our minds are silly that way.
I started the book.
Reading the first page I laughed out loud in that loud way I do and someone near me in the library shot me a dirty look.
I smiled back at them and continued reading.
Somehow I knew you'd love that as much as I did.
The dedication includes: To everybody whose letters I haven't answered.
And since I'd already decided to write this, that seemed pretty damn ironic.
I love the happenstance that is life.
I also thought, Hey, what happened to my letter you were supposedly working on?
In addition to a pony and a take two, I claim ownership of said unwritten letter.
I always get what I want, after all.
At least, I like to pretend that I do.
I seem to have entered this new stage of contentment in actually relishing in the unknown.
My grandmother asked me the other night if I'd ever thought about going into management at Starbucks.
I nearly choked on my wine.
I still haven't the foggiest notion of what it is I want to do but I certainly pray after all these years and all these jobs that it doesn't include Starbucks management.
It certainly would be pretty damn hillarious though, don't you think?
My new manager is so delightfully mellow. I think he is a kindred spirit and I definitely think I was brought to the right location. There's a comfort in feeling relaxed around my boss.
It's very rare to find and definitely something I miss when it's absent.
But there are a lot of things that are missed when they're not around.
I also had this revelation recently that we each must be longing for the same confirmation that the other is genuinely alright. Maybe that's why I hallucinated that customer was you because for me, seeing is believing. But I also know that what is best for me isn't always what's best for someone very different from me. But that's something I figured out a long time ago so even if my inner little girl occassionally stomps her feet at not seeing her prince the woman in me believes the best and knows He's in control.
My mother seemed to understand that you must feel some responsibility for me. And I decided that made me feel loved. She also incitefully declared, that's what you're missing most, when I shared that for the first time I'd allowed myself to be the many layers I am and somehow you'd embraced every bitchycrazynaughtyvulnerablesweetness of it. I also realized with everything I've gone through in my own life the circumstances of the situation hit a little close to home. And that made me want to talk to you even more. It's hard to not have an opinion about something that parallels my own life.
But that also means I'm undeniably biased.
But I guess if we're honest, we all are.
I wanted to say I'm surprisingly happy.
And I miss your face every day.
And I care for you deeply.
And I know everything will be worked for His good.
I heard someone say something like If we knew what God was planning for us we'd agree with Him that we should be right where we're at while He's preparing it.
And I thought that was very true.
And I also found it very comforting that all the really savvy men in the Bible, men like Moses and David, committed wretchedly awful sins yet by Grace they were able to rise above them and do great things in spite of themselves.
And maybe in some backwards way, they wouldn't have risen to such great heights if they hadn't started in really dark shadows.
It was just a thought.
One of the many I'd share if I could.
But I know you already know that.
And one day, soon, I hope I can tell you all that's been bouncing around in my head.
I'd certainly love to hear all that's swimming in yours.
Not good enough
"You're so emotional!"
Yep.
"And you act on every emotion!"
Yep. I'm a doer.
"Someone said, 'she's crazy' and I thought, yeah but that's what I love about her!"
As well you should.
There is an apparent reason why those rejected, those unchosen and tossed aside withdraw into themselves. But it is not merely to be protected from the inflicted certainty of pain from others.
It is to remind themselves that they are enough.
You know those really annoying women, the ones who pop up out of the woodwork when you're fresh out of a relationship just so they can remind you, You'll find him when you're not looking, dear.
Great, that's great.
I wasn't looking to get dumped either yet that delight found me, choked me, smothered me, sucked the contented air of solitude right out of me and left me feeling without because I'd mistakenly allowed someone into Sparkleland with me.
What's your Cathy comic solution for that, Miss Skinny Vanilla Latte?
I think the reason that kind of disregarding advice makes me shudder is because relationships, love specifically, do not follow some cookie cutter recipe of distinction. If I leave out this ingredient then the dough won't rise too much and if I don't spend too much time with him then it won't sting when his cowardice overwhelms his passion.
No, it doesn't work like that. There is no rhyme, no reason, no perfect time, no right season.
Love fails to take into account the unpredictability of human emotion; the fallacy that something that is genuine is also lasting.
Ha! It is to laugh.
Things are constantly changing. People don't know what they want, who they are, what they actually need. Oh, they know what they should want, who they should be, what they should learn to need.
But few possess the daring honesty to set pretense aside and allow themselves to embody their whole truth.
They go the places they feel obliged to go, they do the things they believe will please others, they say the programmed lies that incite anticipated responses from those they are convinced they should surround themselves with.
And somewhere, tucked away in the seemingly safe corners, out of plain view of those looking to devour, exist the uncandidly honest, emotionally raw, pursuers of truth. And all the errors that coincide with that.
At least those errors are real, at least they are mine.
And I'm tired of waiting for others to catch up to me.
This suits me fine.
And I am enough.
Yep.
"And you act on every emotion!"
Yep. I'm a doer.
"Someone said, 'she's crazy' and I thought, yeah but that's what I love about her!"
As well you should.
There is an apparent reason why those rejected, those unchosen and tossed aside withdraw into themselves. But it is not merely to be protected from the inflicted certainty of pain from others.
It is to remind themselves that they are enough.
You know those really annoying women, the ones who pop up out of the woodwork when you're fresh out of a relationship just so they can remind you, You'll find him when you're not looking, dear.
Great, that's great.
I wasn't looking to get dumped either yet that delight found me, choked me, smothered me, sucked the contented air of solitude right out of me and left me feeling without because I'd mistakenly allowed someone into Sparkleland with me.
What's your Cathy comic solution for that, Miss Skinny Vanilla Latte?
I think the reason that kind of disregarding advice makes me shudder is because relationships, love specifically, do not follow some cookie cutter recipe of distinction. If I leave out this ingredient then the dough won't rise too much and if I don't spend too much time with him then it won't sting when his cowardice overwhelms his passion.
No, it doesn't work like that. There is no rhyme, no reason, no perfect time, no right season.
Love fails to take into account the unpredictability of human emotion; the fallacy that something that is genuine is also lasting.
Ha! It is to laugh.
Things are constantly changing. People don't know what they want, who they are, what they actually need. Oh, they know what they should want, who they should be, what they should learn to need.
But few possess the daring honesty to set pretense aside and allow themselves to embody their whole truth.
They go the places they feel obliged to go, they do the things they believe will please others, they say the programmed lies that incite anticipated responses from those they are convinced they should surround themselves with.
And somewhere, tucked away in the seemingly safe corners, out of plain view of those looking to devour, exist the uncandidly honest, emotionally raw, pursuers of truth. And all the errors that coincide with that.
At least those errors are real, at least they are mine.
And I'm tired of waiting for others to catch up to me.
This suits me fine.
And I am enough.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
My Newness
One thing to be said for growing up is opinions shift. There are things I believe now that if I had a conversation with The Resa from 2002 she would be scandalized in disbelief. I think experience has a way of altering our jaded viewpoints. They say you should write what you know, that the best stories, however fictitious, are the ones that stem from truth. And so, too, it seems we think what we know, rather we think according to what we allow ourselves to accept. And all we choose to ignore makes it that much easier to not accept the things we claim to not believe.
Most people, though there are those few rare exceptions, but most people can't understand what they've never experienced. We offer our empathetic I know how you feel when we have no idea how they feel especially if the only parallel we can draw to the hell they're going through is something as inane as having our ex best friend say something horrible about us behind our back.
We don't know anything.
And even if we have had the privilege of enduring some wretched hardship it still doesn't give us eyes to really see all the pain someone goes through.
We would do well to judge less and love more.
I kept finding my thoughts drifting to everything he must be going through.
I'd stopped worrying long ago about what any of this was doing to me.
I am always fine, that's one of my gifts.
One tough cookie, that's me, albeit a delicious chocolate chip cookie, but still tough.
I realized today with all I have to communicate I talk too much. Seriously. Or I at least talk too much to the wrong people. I communicate all of my heart and then wonder why others seem to use that truth against me. For being a woman whose lived on at least several corners of this long block of life I certainly am still very naïve.
I guess believing the best of people does that to you.
Sometimes they surprise you by walking through the doors and sometimes they sock you in the gut right when you least expect it.
I always did say I like surprises.
I guess the unexpected betrayals are in themselves surprises.
So there's that.
One thing The new Resa can't reason to the old Resa is that marriage is frightening. It's supposed to be what I want most, it's supposed to be what I'll look forward to in my old age. That's what I always thought I wanted. I love love! I'm like a female Romeo or Joel from Eternal Sunshine falling in love with everyone who pays me the slightest bit of attention. You would think if I was as smart as I delude myself into believing I would learn from the repetition and repetition and get sick of men.
But I love men.
I love falling in love. I love being in love. I love making someone feel loved. Holding responsibility for putting that smile on their handsome face? Simply divine. It's like playing those pieces by Yann Tiersen that I love to play. It just makes me happy. It makes me feel joyously overwhelmed.
Yet love also houses the greatest risk, the most inconsistent odds, the ability to instill more tears than I knew I housed.
So why the draw? Was I secretly a masochist too? Were we all?
Some joke, eh.
It was simple enough.
And as different as I knew I was, some things would always remain, in their simplicity.
Most people, though there are those few rare exceptions, but most people can't understand what they've never experienced. We offer our empathetic I know how you feel when we have no idea how they feel especially if the only parallel we can draw to the hell they're going through is something as inane as having our ex best friend say something horrible about us behind our back.
We don't know anything.
And even if we have had the privilege of enduring some wretched hardship it still doesn't give us eyes to really see all the pain someone goes through.
We would do well to judge less and love more.
I kept finding my thoughts drifting to everything he must be going through.
I'd stopped worrying long ago about what any of this was doing to me.
I am always fine, that's one of my gifts.
One tough cookie, that's me, albeit a delicious chocolate chip cookie, but still tough.
I realized today with all I have to communicate I talk too much. Seriously. Or I at least talk too much to the wrong people. I communicate all of my heart and then wonder why others seem to use that truth against me. For being a woman whose lived on at least several corners of this long block of life I certainly am still very naïve.
I guess believing the best of people does that to you.
Sometimes they surprise you by walking through the doors and sometimes they sock you in the gut right when you least expect it.
I always did say I like surprises.
I guess the unexpected betrayals are in themselves surprises.
So there's that.
One thing The new Resa can't reason to the old Resa is that marriage is frightening. It's supposed to be what I want most, it's supposed to be what I'll look forward to in my old age. That's what I always thought I wanted. I love love! I'm like a female Romeo or Joel from Eternal Sunshine falling in love with everyone who pays me the slightest bit of attention. You would think if I was as smart as I delude myself into believing I would learn from the repetition and repetition and get sick of men.
But I love men.
I love falling in love. I love being in love. I love making someone feel loved. Holding responsibility for putting that smile on their handsome face? Simply divine. It's like playing those pieces by Yann Tiersen that I love to play. It just makes me happy. It makes me feel joyously overwhelmed.
Yet love also houses the greatest risk, the most inconsistent odds, the ability to instill more tears than I knew I housed.
So why the draw? Was I secretly a masochist too? Were we all?
Some joke, eh.
It was simple enough.
And as different as I knew I was, some things would always remain, in their simplicity.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Sigh no more
"Tis a far, far better thing doing stuff for other people."
I had this grand idea.
A girl I used to work with recently married and moved to the east coast. Unsurprisingly she's been overwhelmingly homesick. I remember what that was like, living three thousand miles from home, away from those whose conversation kept me sane, who always loved me no matter how bitchy I could be. And I felt for this girl who not only had the overwhelming change that must be marriage but she had to do all of it while away from her friends and family.
And that's when it hit me.
So I decided to send her a care package for her birthday and get all her old coworkers in on it too, which somehow felt comical after everything I'd gone through with all of them. But that's life right? Just when you think you're through with someone, guess again! People can and will haunt you. And it never seems to be the people you want to haunt you. Damn.
And I went there to drop off cards for them to fill out for her and being there felt different. It didn't seem to affect me in the same way anymore. I guess I'm different. And I guess I've accepted all that has yet to be discovered and I no longer am concerned with what they think of me. Or how little they think of me.
I found some things I already had to put in the care package and created some mixed cds for her and even went to some stores and found a really great headband I think she'll love.
Now all I needed was a card from the cutest guy from Starbucks and her package would be complete.
And it all made me feel like I was on a high. It's like that cheesy line from that movie, it really is a far better thing doing stuff for other people. Do you know why we get depressed? Do you know why we can't seem to drag our self pitying butts out of bed? Because we're consumed with self. It's like a virus that plagues our brain.
Poor me. It's so unfair what they did to me. I wish they saw me. I wish he called me. Me. Me. ME.
God, it was so ridiculously simple, it almost made me dizzy.
You can't be selfish and be happy.
But you can love and be free.
And that, that felt amazing.
And no one could touch this loving heart.
No one.
And I felt like in spite of everyone I'd found myself in the same centered place I'd been in months ago when I occupied my time with ways to love the unlovable. Those have been the greatest days. And I think that's all I was trying to do when I stumbled down the rabbit hole.
Funny, isn't it? How wrong a love can be. Yet regret was not a factor. Not with this lady, anyway.
It made me smile to think of her face as she'll open the box and the wave of surprise that will hit her as she'll take in how many people remember her. That's what we all want you know, to feel remembered. No one wants to be forgotten, then they fear they were never important to begin with.
But of course that's not true.
But we always know what's really true.
That's the most delicious secret of all.
Love that will not betray you,
dismay or enslave you,
It will set you free
I had this grand idea.
A girl I used to work with recently married and moved to the east coast. Unsurprisingly she's been overwhelmingly homesick. I remember what that was like, living three thousand miles from home, away from those whose conversation kept me sane, who always loved me no matter how bitchy I could be. And I felt for this girl who not only had the overwhelming change that must be marriage but she had to do all of it while away from her friends and family.
And that's when it hit me.
So I decided to send her a care package for her birthday and get all her old coworkers in on it too, which somehow felt comical after everything I'd gone through with all of them. But that's life right? Just when you think you're through with someone, guess again! People can and will haunt you. And it never seems to be the people you want to haunt you. Damn.
And I went there to drop off cards for them to fill out for her and being there felt different. It didn't seem to affect me in the same way anymore. I guess I'm different. And I guess I've accepted all that has yet to be discovered and I no longer am concerned with what they think of me. Or how little they think of me.
I found some things I already had to put in the care package and created some mixed cds for her and even went to some stores and found a really great headband I think she'll love.
Now all I needed was a card from the cutest guy from Starbucks and her package would be complete.
And it all made me feel like I was on a high. It's like that cheesy line from that movie, it really is a far better thing doing stuff for other people. Do you know why we get depressed? Do you know why we can't seem to drag our self pitying butts out of bed? Because we're consumed with self. It's like a virus that plagues our brain.
Poor me. It's so unfair what they did to me. I wish they saw me. I wish he called me. Me. Me. ME.
God, it was so ridiculously simple, it almost made me dizzy.
You can't be selfish and be happy.
But you can love and be free.
And that, that felt amazing.
And no one could touch this loving heart.
No one.
And I felt like in spite of everyone I'd found myself in the same centered place I'd been in months ago when I occupied my time with ways to love the unlovable. Those have been the greatest days. And I think that's all I was trying to do when I stumbled down the rabbit hole.
Funny, isn't it? How wrong a love can be. Yet regret was not a factor. Not with this lady, anyway.
It made me smile to think of her face as she'll open the box and the wave of surprise that will hit her as she'll take in how many people remember her. That's what we all want you know, to feel remembered. No one wants to be forgotten, then they fear they were never important to begin with.
But of course that's not true.
But we always know what's really true.
That's the most delicious secret of all.
Love that will not betray you,
dismay or enslave you,
It will set you free
Sunday, October 24, 2010
That Which is Good
One time in 11th grade, I think it was, I wrote this paper. What it was about I don't remember, but what I do recall is that the teacher made this comment in the margin that the comparison I'd made between the book in the report to another book I'd read had nothing to do with the report.
She claimed my comparison was moot, irrelevant, a poor use of comparison.
Obviously it must have struck a chord in me if I remember it twelve years later.
I want to understand things so much that I usually end up over analyzing them to death. I'm so introspective that sometimes I'm afraid my inner monologue will fall out of my mouth and everyone will discover that I have extensive, thoughtful conversations with myself.
Maybe I was always meant to be a writer.
I certainly am always thinking a running narrative of all that is going on around me, all I'm being told and all that's being whispered about me.
I take it all in.
And I always have an opinion about it.
I had this thought that I don't think I'm capable of viewing someone with completely new eyes because everything I know, everything I've learned, is comparative.
That prince was not like this prince who wasn't like that one prince but kind of looks like that guy from the bar I was at last night. And they say we are to love each time as if it was our first but how is that even possible when my eyes are jaded by all I've already seen, all I know, all that has yet to be?
I learn comparatively. We all do, I guess. We know black is black and not grey because we know what each is and each isn't. But I feel like I have an especially heightened comparative learning process.
I'm not really sure what that means but I remember a lot.
And I notice a lot.
I'd make a really keen spy.
I asked this girl at my work what her tattoo said and it read
Hold fast to that which is good.
Coincidentally enough, I found myself reading in Romans the next day and there in chapter twelve, verse nine, I read
Let your love be sincere; hate what is evil, but hold fast to that which is good.
And I had to smile over such happenstance. And I wondered if the girl knew what was written on her was also written there or if it was just some phrase she liked.
But the repetition of the words lingered with me.
Hold fast.
Last week I was at a wine bar downtown and noticed a girl I'd gone to school with a lifetime ago and wondered if she knew who I was but thought little of it.
The next day I was at the duck park and that same girl was jogging there too, in the opposite direction to the way I was walking.
I wondered again if she knew who I was or even that we'd been at the same bar the night before. I wondered if she'd noticed, like I had, that our paths were acutely aligned.
And over analyzer that I am, I wondered what it could even mean.
If anything.
I guess that's just it. Sometimes things don't mean what they seem to, sometimes they just are what they are. Sometimes there's so much more to them than you'll ever realize.
And sometimes all you know to be true is actually what's really there.
And very few ever see that, very few share such secrets.
But those who do, see.
And know.
They know all that is never spoken, all that few ever see.
If God is good and God is the Spirit
and the Spirit lives in me
then I am good, through Him, by Him,
I am good
And I hold fast to that which is good
I hold fast to me
If I fall, if I slip,
if I can't be all that I could be
I hold fast
She claimed my comparison was moot, irrelevant, a poor use of comparison.
Obviously it must have struck a chord in me if I remember it twelve years later.
I want to understand things so much that I usually end up over analyzing them to death. I'm so introspective that sometimes I'm afraid my inner monologue will fall out of my mouth and everyone will discover that I have extensive, thoughtful conversations with myself.
Maybe I was always meant to be a writer.
I certainly am always thinking a running narrative of all that is going on around me, all I'm being told and all that's being whispered about me.
I take it all in.
And I always have an opinion about it.
I had this thought that I don't think I'm capable of viewing someone with completely new eyes because everything I know, everything I've learned, is comparative.
That prince was not like this prince who wasn't like that one prince but kind of looks like that guy from the bar I was at last night. And they say we are to love each time as if it was our first but how is that even possible when my eyes are jaded by all I've already seen, all I know, all that has yet to be?
I learn comparatively. We all do, I guess. We know black is black and not grey because we know what each is and each isn't. But I feel like I have an especially heightened comparative learning process.
I'm not really sure what that means but I remember a lot.
And I notice a lot.
I'd make a really keen spy.
I asked this girl at my work what her tattoo said and it read
Hold fast to that which is good.
Coincidentally enough, I found myself reading in Romans the next day and there in chapter twelve, verse nine, I read
Let your love be sincere; hate what is evil, but hold fast to that which is good.
And I had to smile over such happenstance. And I wondered if the girl knew what was written on her was also written there or if it was just some phrase she liked.
But the repetition of the words lingered with me.
Hold fast.
Last week I was at a wine bar downtown and noticed a girl I'd gone to school with a lifetime ago and wondered if she knew who I was but thought little of it.
The next day I was at the duck park and that same girl was jogging there too, in the opposite direction to the way I was walking.
I wondered again if she knew who I was or even that we'd been at the same bar the night before. I wondered if she'd noticed, like I had, that our paths were acutely aligned.
And over analyzer that I am, I wondered what it could even mean.
If anything.
I guess that's just it. Sometimes things don't mean what they seem to, sometimes they just are what they are. Sometimes there's so much more to them than you'll ever realize.
And sometimes all you know to be true is actually what's really there.
And very few ever see that, very few share such secrets.
But those who do, see.
And know.
They know all that is never spoken, all that few ever see.
If God is good and God is the Spirit
and the Spirit lives in me
then I am good, through Him, by Him,
I am good
And I hold fast to that which is good
I hold fast to me
If I fall, if I slip,
if I can't be all that I could be
I hold fast
Head Up. Sparkle On.
Today was a gorgeous day.
The rain poured in buckets and in between such outbreaks it ceased along with the wind.
Rain makes people dance.
They scurry quickly through the streets and huddle in corners to try and escape the attack of the water.
And occassionally someone stands quietly aside, watching, taking it all in.
Relishing in the rain.
And I loved that.
I love surprises.
I think sometimes the reason we love people is because of how they surprise us. The way they see something in us we forgot was there or the way they linger after we remove the disguises that hid our inner villains. The surprising words they'll send our direction letting us know they do care, we do matter, and we are a part of them, even after we're gone.
I'm a communicator. I need to express myself. There is way too much bouncing around inside of me to stay trapped inside. I always feel better when I write or run or make music or talk to a friend who allows me to be who I am. The comedy was never wasted on me that I fell in love with a man who claimed he was a poor communicator. I possessed enough thoughts and words and emotions for the both of us and always seemed to be incapable of not communicating them. He claimed we were simply oil and water. He never understood the beauty of such dichotomy. But that's why he's no longer in this chapter.
It's incredible to me how many people want to change you, refute you, discredit you, belittle you. Where were those who merely wanted to embrace you?
And that's why I missed him most.
Nothing was too anything. I disclosed everything. I apologized for nothing.
I was all that I am.
And that was delightful.
Once while in college I asked out this guy I'd been crushing on for months and revealed in openness my secret feelings to him. I remember afterwards feeling like I was on a high, giddy with the freedom that I'd given him my truth. Where most sane people would probably feel uneasy or nervous at such a revealing act, at such vulnerability, I felt alive and happy.
I've always been that way.
And I think that scares the crap out of most men.
But that didn't seem to be the case with him.
And that made me smile.
He, like me, was unpredictable. He lacked the guises and charming rhetoric that most used to attempt to sell a certain version of themselves, a way they wanted to be seen, a person they thought I might fancy.
He had been undeniably uncandid, frighteningly honest, disclosing more than he probably should and yet all I could be was intrigued.
Who does that? And what in me led him to be so raw?
It was intoxicating.
And somehow while part of me wanted more and longed to see him, still another part of me loved the simplicity in our released love. That's sweet of him to check in, a friend of mine had said.
And it was sweet. But more than that it surprised me. It was unexpected. And I loved that.
I remembered how much I'd longed to hear from one who no longer had room for me in their busy life. And I hoped and I believed and I trusted they would be who I always believed them to be. And I did hear from them. And they were harsh and condescending and withdrawn and they had contacted me merely to declare their indifference.
And I wished I'd never heard from them.
Truth is stronger than hope when it shatters with such intensity.
And juxtoposed, the Surprising One delighted in me. My presence was welcomed and cherished and I was grateful to be reminded of what love looks like. It is not the bombardment of condescension in an effort to diminish the heart of one who is incapable of ceasing to love. It is the trust that this one is worthy of your truth, that if the rest of the world is busy in the distraction of an unending game of deception, we would pause to be honest with one another. Because we knew that is what each of us would want.
He had found a way to reach out in spite of all who would will him to destroy my affection.
One had withheld himself, another had allowed himself to remain affixed.
And I thought of my Psuedo who always reached out, in his way, in his time, always.
And in some way I knew he would too, my surprising Surprise.
And that anticipation was mine and mine alone.
It was my secret, housed within, untouchable.
The sun is out now and the streets have calmed down.
And after the storm, truth seems to reveal all that was always there.
And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
And now I cling to what I knew, I saw exactly what was true
That's why I hold with all I have.
That's why I hold.
The rain poured in buckets and in between such outbreaks it ceased along with the wind.
Rain makes people dance.
They scurry quickly through the streets and huddle in corners to try and escape the attack of the water.
And occassionally someone stands quietly aside, watching, taking it all in.
Relishing in the rain.
And I loved that.
I love surprises.
I think sometimes the reason we love people is because of how they surprise us. The way they see something in us we forgot was there or the way they linger after we remove the disguises that hid our inner villains. The surprising words they'll send our direction letting us know they do care, we do matter, and we are a part of them, even after we're gone.
I'm a communicator. I need to express myself. There is way too much bouncing around inside of me to stay trapped inside. I always feel better when I write or run or make music or talk to a friend who allows me to be who I am. The comedy was never wasted on me that I fell in love with a man who claimed he was a poor communicator. I possessed enough thoughts and words and emotions for the both of us and always seemed to be incapable of not communicating them. He claimed we were simply oil and water. He never understood the beauty of such dichotomy. But that's why he's no longer in this chapter.
It's incredible to me how many people want to change you, refute you, discredit you, belittle you. Where were those who merely wanted to embrace you?
And that's why I missed him most.
Nothing was too anything. I disclosed everything. I apologized for nothing.
I was all that I am.
And that was delightful.
Once while in college I asked out this guy I'd been crushing on for months and revealed in openness my secret feelings to him. I remember afterwards feeling like I was on a high, giddy with the freedom that I'd given him my truth. Where most sane people would probably feel uneasy or nervous at such a revealing act, at such vulnerability, I felt alive and happy.
I've always been that way.
And I think that scares the crap out of most men.
But that didn't seem to be the case with him.
And that made me smile.
He, like me, was unpredictable. He lacked the guises and charming rhetoric that most used to attempt to sell a certain version of themselves, a way they wanted to be seen, a person they thought I might fancy.
He had been undeniably uncandid, frighteningly honest, disclosing more than he probably should and yet all I could be was intrigued.
Who does that? And what in me led him to be so raw?
It was intoxicating.
And somehow while part of me wanted more and longed to see him, still another part of me loved the simplicity in our released love. That's sweet of him to check in, a friend of mine had said.
And it was sweet. But more than that it surprised me. It was unexpected. And I loved that.
I remembered how much I'd longed to hear from one who no longer had room for me in their busy life. And I hoped and I believed and I trusted they would be who I always believed them to be. And I did hear from them. And they were harsh and condescending and withdrawn and they had contacted me merely to declare their indifference.
And I wished I'd never heard from them.
Truth is stronger than hope when it shatters with such intensity.
And juxtoposed, the Surprising One delighted in me. My presence was welcomed and cherished and I was grateful to be reminded of what love looks like. It is not the bombardment of condescension in an effort to diminish the heart of one who is incapable of ceasing to love. It is the trust that this one is worthy of your truth, that if the rest of the world is busy in the distraction of an unending game of deception, we would pause to be honest with one another. Because we knew that is what each of us would want.
He had found a way to reach out in spite of all who would will him to destroy my affection.
One had withheld himself, another had allowed himself to remain affixed.
And I thought of my Psuedo who always reached out, in his way, in his time, always.
And in some way I knew he would too, my surprising Surprise.
And that anticipation was mine and mine alone.
It was my secret, housed within, untouchable.
The sun is out now and the streets have calmed down.
And after the storm, truth seems to reveal all that was always there.
And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
And now I cling to what I knew, I saw exactly what was true
That's why I hold with all I have.
That's why I hold.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
He turned into an Owl
Once again I felt a wave of restlessness wash over me.
Only this time it was surprisingly different.
I had a revelation.
To my surprise, against Time that frequently preferred to move like molasses, I had found myself already in that peaceful state of tranquility.
He had no power over me anymore.
Oh sure, if I saw him, if I heard from him, I'm not saying it wouldn't have an affect on me, of course it would. I'm a woman.
But the truth was the whole thing was so brief, such a whirlwind of heightened emotions and confusion that it all felt as lasting as a dream. I wasn't in it long enough for it to affect me the way I believed it would. And how could it? What normally transpired over several months we'd crammed into several weeks and then ended it as quickly as it had began. Isn't the only possible outcome to be left dizzy with disbelief and therefore blithely disaffected?
And was he as easily overcome with indifference towards me as I seemed to be towards him?
In some ways, I assumed he was.
Our hearts are very fickle beasts. And our wills are also very strong. If we want to convince ourselves of something or to unconvince ourselves of some unsomething then we can and will make it happen.
We're pretty savvy. We're fairly simple.
We're mere fools.
I sat there on that couch, reading a book, just as I had all those weeks ago, that night it all seemed to begin somehow and remembering all of that made me giggle. Here I was once again, come full circle, somehow arriving at the same place.
And I was fine.
And I think that fact made me sad.
I think I wanted to be more upset. I should be more upset.
But I wasn't.
That's just not how I am.
I guess it's hard to see what's not there. It's hard to believe what's no longer in front of you.
It's hard to know if something is because maybe it never had been.
And without a connection, one was left simply, alone.
I'd allowed myself to process, I'd allowed myself to mourn.
And that was that.
The chapter, with me unawares, had simply closed.
And my acceptance of that, my lack of strong emotions because of that, left me confused.
Uncertain.
Deliciously Uncertain.
The whole thing was so crazy, so unreal, it was like it never even happened.
At least not the way I thought it had.
Then again, maybe I'd just replaced my old illusion with a new one.
But whatever the truth, it suited me just fine.
It was mine.
And that's what mattered.
Only this time it was surprisingly different.
I had a revelation.
To my surprise, against Time that frequently preferred to move like molasses, I had found myself already in that peaceful state of tranquility.
He had no power over me anymore.
Oh sure, if I saw him, if I heard from him, I'm not saying it wouldn't have an affect on me, of course it would. I'm a woman.
But the truth was the whole thing was so brief, such a whirlwind of heightened emotions and confusion that it all felt as lasting as a dream. I wasn't in it long enough for it to affect me the way I believed it would. And how could it? What normally transpired over several months we'd crammed into several weeks and then ended it as quickly as it had began. Isn't the only possible outcome to be left dizzy with disbelief and therefore blithely disaffected?
And was he as easily overcome with indifference towards me as I seemed to be towards him?
In some ways, I assumed he was.
Our hearts are very fickle beasts. And our wills are also very strong. If we want to convince ourselves of something or to unconvince ourselves of some unsomething then we can and will make it happen.
We're pretty savvy. We're fairly simple.
We're mere fools.
I sat there on that couch, reading a book, just as I had all those weeks ago, that night it all seemed to begin somehow and remembering all of that made me giggle. Here I was once again, come full circle, somehow arriving at the same place.
And I was fine.
And I think that fact made me sad.
I think I wanted to be more upset. I should be more upset.
But I wasn't.
That's just not how I am.
I guess it's hard to see what's not there. It's hard to believe what's no longer in front of you.
It's hard to know if something is because maybe it never had been.
And without a connection, one was left simply, alone.
I'd allowed myself to process, I'd allowed myself to mourn.
And that was that.
The chapter, with me unawares, had simply closed.
And my acceptance of that, my lack of strong emotions because of that, left me confused.
Uncertain.
Deliciously Uncertain.
The whole thing was so crazy, so unreal, it was like it never even happened.
At least not the way I thought it had.
Then again, maybe I'd just replaced my old illusion with a new one.
But whatever the truth, it suited me just fine.
It was mine.
And that's what mattered.
Fire Swings
Veronica and Fiona passed each other on the street. Hey, Veronica called from her car window and Fiona shouted Hey in return as she pedaled past on her bike in the opposite direction. They agreed to meet at a pub Veronica had never been to before. But she preferred it that way. Veronica liked it when people picked the places to meet especially when they turned out to be places she'd never tried before. They so often ended up proving to be the greatest nights.
They stepped inside and made their way towards the back of the bar where they cuddled up around a table with a fire pit in the center of it.
Are those swings? Veronica asked, glancing at the chairs across from where they were sitting.
Yeah, I've never sat in them before, though. There's always someone sitting there, Fiona commented. Oh, we will sit there, Veronica reassured. Just wait.
They each ordered their drinks, whiskey for Fiona, red wine for Veronica.
People probably wouldn't take me for a whiskey person, Fiona shared, but I really love it.
People probably wouldn't take me for the Vixen that I am and yet, here we are, Veronica offered up her glass and Fiona clinked hers.
Cheers, they both smiled. To being surprisingly unexpected.
Veronica surveyed the room, taking in the faces and the vibes around her. Witnessing the dancing atoms between the couple on her left she leaned closer to Fiona and whispered, First Date. Fiona winked in agreement. Then Veronica's eyes stumbled across a girl she hadn't seen in months.
Hey, isn't that Mar? Veronica asked Fiona.
Oh yeah, it is, Fiona agreed.
We can't even go to a bar I've never been to without running into someone we know. Guess that's the laws of Portland, Veronica sighed and threw back the rest of her wine.
She's one of those people who every time I think I have her in a box, every time I think I have her figured out she does something to surprise me, Fiona said . You're like that too.
Thanks, Veronica beamed. That's how I'd like to be, undeniably unbeige.
Or vanilla, Fiona grinned. We may not be quite kinky enough to be chocolate but we're definitely a swirl!
And how! The waitress brought their refreshed drinks over and Veronica began recounting her conversation with Michael.
He told me I was Spider Woman and I don't think he was talking about my spidey sense. He meant I'm a black widow. Fiona's eyes grew wider as she continued to sip on her whiskey.
'I just wanna make sure you aren't going to continue using your power this way,' he says to me. And when I ask him what he means he tells me that I get off on sensitive guys who flounder.
Veronica, frustrated at the recollection stopped to slurp her wine.
That seems unfair, Fiona offered understandingly.
Isn't it possible that I merely believed what they said and that they wanted to believe what they said, they wanted to believe they were what I saw? And is it a crime we each believed so strongly in such an illusion? Veronica set down her glass and locked eyes with Fiona.
Then he proceeds to tell me that sometimes we hear what we want to hear. And ends the conversation with 'love you so much!' I could have killed him.
Fiona shook her head and told Veronica she would have been pissed too. They agreed that it was impossible for anyone else to ever understand what transpired between two people except those two people and how therein was part of the pain. When they no longer were connected to that one who understood them in a way that called them on their bullshit and challenged them to constantly be real and instead had to fight off the influential biases of those unconnected to the prior relationship, those who wanted to influence how they thought of all that was or even is. Twas exhausting. And it always made them miss their old friends all the more.
Hey, swings! Fiona pointed as a group left another table and the pair got up to steal the swing seats before anyone else could.
I can understand why you want to act out or do something to try and get to him, Fiona continued. You have no control in this situation and you want to try and feel like you have some control. Fiona had a way of understanding the things Veronica never articulated and that was what made her love Fiona.
Damn, Veronica said, You're right. I think it's also that I know he's a bit of a masochist and secretly enjoys being tortured. So its a win win. They both smiled.
That kid was like, 'I just hope he doesn't find out I let you have that shirt, he'll be really upset.' And I thought, are you kidding?! He will totally love that I have it! He will probably get off on it, Veronica smirked. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he gave it to him knowing he'd tell me about it and secretly hoping he'd give it to me. Fiona looked at Veronica with both eyebrows raised this time.
I know that sounds insane but he IS crazy. We both are. That's why we were so good together. Losing herself in recollections Veronica continued babbling away.
Did I tell you about that time he was trying to leave and he pushed me up against the wall, covering me with kisses and couldn't tear himself away? Such passion!
Fiona shot Veronica a severe look. Veronica sighed audibly.
Yeah, I know, I know. I just miss my sin. I want my sin back. Damn.
Veronica slumped a bit in her swing.
Fiona leaned forward, I know, she said, but having time away from one another can only be a good thing. If it fades, then you know it wasn't as real as it felt. And if later down the line you both still feel the way you do and you hear from him, then you'll know.
They swayed back and forth in their swings and Veronica muttered inaudibly under her breath.
But still, you're throwing a party, Veronica said.
Yes and inviting all the guys, Fiona reminded.
Veronica's eyes lit up. Distractions are keen, she mused. Sometimes the ones you think are flings turn into the romantic love affairs. My longest relationship was with a guy I thought was a rebound. I kind of just went out with him to make Jimmy jealous. Four years later, guess the joke was on me.
Love is a strange little critter, Fiona added.
If we had any sense at all we'd stop falling for the wrong ones, Veronica said. No more sensitive, emotional, artsy guys. I can't handle another guy falling in love with me and freaking out about it.
Guess that's why they say we always go for assholes, Fiona smirked.
Because we already know what we're getting? Or not getting, I should say. I'll take predictable predictabilities for 500, Alex. Alex, we know way too many Alex's. Do you think its unreasonable to say no more dating guys named Alex? Veronica said with bemusement. We'll add it as an addendum to my 'Signs you know it's over' list.
Fiona shot Veronica a sideways glance.
Veronica cleared her throat, You know it's over when he stops wearing deoderant.
Fiona chimed in, You know its over when making love to him is like sleeping with a 13 year old! Veronica released a loud laugh and Fiona blushed. Not that I've ever slept with a 13 year old but you get the picture.
Veronica nodded. You know it's over when he says, 'I can't meet you for drinks because I'm going home to my WIFE!'
Good one! Fiona laughed.
I'm kind of in love with this bar, Veronica said. There's fire in the middle of the tables and swings to sit on. And I'm not even drunk.
And its whiskey Wednesdays, Fiona added.
People just get stuck in routines, you know? Same people, same places, same predictability. It all turns beige. Then one morning they wake up and lose their minds over something new or someone different because they just can't take it anymore. We need stimulation. We weren't made to become robots you know? Veronica paused. Am I a terrible person for secretly hoping it doesn't work out? I mean, I want him to be happy. But...
No, Fiona interrupted. You're just still in it right now. Time will tell, right?
Right, Veronica agreed. Won't you know it, it's gonna be like 9 months from now, he's gonna call me, the Alaskan's gonna fall back into my life and I'm gonna be dating someone new. And I won't know what the hell to do!
I'm telling you, that Fate is one conniving bitch, Fiona said.
That's what I say! Veronica laughed.
Damn, it's 1:30am. We should probably head out.
The girls gathered their stuff and made their way outside under the crisp autumn stars.
They hugged each other good night and each headed off in opposite directions once again.
Veronica smiled as she shuffled back to her car. She wasn't feeling so bad about things anymore.
Time had a way of changing things.
They stepped inside and made their way towards the back of the bar where they cuddled up around a table with a fire pit in the center of it.
Are those swings? Veronica asked, glancing at the chairs across from where they were sitting.
Yeah, I've never sat in them before, though. There's always someone sitting there, Fiona commented. Oh, we will sit there, Veronica reassured. Just wait.
They each ordered their drinks, whiskey for Fiona, red wine for Veronica.
People probably wouldn't take me for a whiskey person, Fiona shared, but I really love it.
People probably wouldn't take me for the Vixen that I am and yet, here we are, Veronica offered up her glass and Fiona clinked hers.
Cheers, they both smiled. To being surprisingly unexpected.
Veronica surveyed the room, taking in the faces and the vibes around her. Witnessing the dancing atoms between the couple on her left she leaned closer to Fiona and whispered, First Date. Fiona winked in agreement. Then Veronica's eyes stumbled across a girl she hadn't seen in months.
Hey, isn't that Mar? Veronica asked Fiona.
Oh yeah, it is, Fiona agreed.
We can't even go to a bar I've never been to without running into someone we know. Guess that's the laws of Portland, Veronica sighed and threw back the rest of her wine.
She's one of those people who every time I think I have her in a box, every time I think I have her figured out she does something to surprise me, Fiona said . You're like that too.
Thanks, Veronica beamed. That's how I'd like to be, undeniably unbeige.
Or vanilla, Fiona grinned. We may not be quite kinky enough to be chocolate but we're definitely a swirl!
And how! The waitress brought their refreshed drinks over and Veronica began recounting her conversation with Michael.
He told me I was Spider Woman and I don't think he was talking about my spidey sense. He meant I'm a black widow. Fiona's eyes grew wider as she continued to sip on her whiskey.
'I just wanna make sure you aren't going to continue using your power this way,' he says to me. And when I ask him what he means he tells me that I get off on sensitive guys who flounder.
Veronica, frustrated at the recollection stopped to slurp her wine.
That seems unfair, Fiona offered understandingly.
Isn't it possible that I merely believed what they said and that they wanted to believe what they said, they wanted to believe they were what I saw? And is it a crime we each believed so strongly in such an illusion? Veronica set down her glass and locked eyes with Fiona.
Then he proceeds to tell me that sometimes we hear what we want to hear. And ends the conversation with 'love you so much!' I could have killed him.
Fiona shook her head and told Veronica she would have been pissed too. They agreed that it was impossible for anyone else to ever understand what transpired between two people except those two people and how therein was part of the pain. When they no longer were connected to that one who understood them in a way that called them on their bullshit and challenged them to constantly be real and instead had to fight off the influential biases of those unconnected to the prior relationship, those who wanted to influence how they thought of all that was or even is. Twas exhausting. And it always made them miss their old friends all the more.
Hey, swings! Fiona pointed as a group left another table and the pair got up to steal the swing seats before anyone else could.
I can understand why you want to act out or do something to try and get to him, Fiona continued. You have no control in this situation and you want to try and feel like you have some control. Fiona had a way of understanding the things Veronica never articulated and that was what made her love Fiona.
Damn, Veronica said, You're right. I think it's also that I know he's a bit of a masochist and secretly enjoys being tortured. So its a win win. They both smiled.
That kid was like, 'I just hope he doesn't find out I let you have that shirt, he'll be really upset.' And I thought, are you kidding?! He will totally love that I have it! He will probably get off on it, Veronica smirked. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he gave it to him knowing he'd tell me about it and secretly hoping he'd give it to me. Fiona looked at Veronica with both eyebrows raised this time.
I know that sounds insane but he IS crazy. We both are. That's why we were so good together. Losing herself in recollections Veronica continued babbling away.
Did I tell you about that time he was trying to leave and he pushed me up against the wall, covering me with kisses and couldn't tear himself away? Such passion!
Fiona shot Veronica a severe look. Veronica sighed audibly.
Yeah, I know, I know. I just miss my sin. I want my sin back. Damn.
Veronica slumped a bit in her swing.
Fiona leaned forward, I know, she said, but having time away from one another can only be a good thing. If it fades, then you know it wasn't as real as it felt. And if later down the line you both still feel the way you do and you hear from him, then you'll know.
They swayed back and forth in their swings and Veronica muttered inaudibly under her breath.
But still, you're throwing a party, Veronica said.
Yes and inviting all the guys, Fiona reminded.
Veronica's eyes lit up. Distractions are keen, she mused. Sometimes the ones you think are flings turn into the romantic love affairs. My longest relationship was with a guy I thought was a rebound. I kind of just went out with him to make Jimmy jealous. Four years later, guess the joke was on me.
Love is a strange little critter, Fiona added.
If we had any sense at all we'd stop falling for the wrong ones, Veronica said. No more sensitive, emotional, artsy guys. I can't handle another guy falling in love with me and freaking out about it.
Guess that's why they say we always go for assholes, Fiona smirked.
Because we already know what we're getting? Or not getting, I should say. I'll take predictable predictabilities for 500, Alex. Alex, we know way too many Alex's. Do you think its unreasonable to say no more dating guys named Alex? Veronica said with bemusement. We'll add it as an addendum to my 'Signs you know it's over' list.
Fiona shot Veronica a sideways glance.
Veronica cleared her throat, You know it's over when he stops wearing deoderant.
Fiona chimed in, You know its over when making love to him is like sleeping with a 13 year old! Veronica released a loud laugh and Fiona blushed. Not that I've ever slept with a 13 year old but you get the picture.
Veronica nodded. You know it's over when he says, 'I can't meet you for drinks because I'm going home to my WIFE!'
Good one! Fiona laughed.
I'm kind of in love with this bar, Veronica said. There's fire in the middle of the tables and swings to sit on. And I'm not even drunk.
And its whiskey Wednesdays, Fiona added.
People just get stuck in routines, you know? Same people, same places, same predictability. It all turns beige. Then one morning they wake up and lose their minds over something new or someone different because they just can't take it anymore. We need stimulation. We weren't made to become robots you know? Veronica paused. Am I a terrible person for secretly hoping it doesn't work out? I mean, I want him to be happy. But...
No, Fiona interrupted. You're just still in it right now. Time will tell, right?
Right, Veronica agreed. Won't you know it, it's gonna be like 9 months from now, he's gonna call me, the Alaskan's gonna fall back into my life and I'm gonna be dating someone new. And I won't know what the hell to do!
I'm telling you, that Fate is one conniving bitch, Fiona said.
That's what I say! Veronica laughed.
Damn, it's 1:30am. We should probably head out.
The girls gathered their stuff and made their way outside under the crisp autumn stars.
They hugged each other good night and each headed off in opposite directions once again.
Veronica smiled as she shuffled back to her car. She wasn't feeling so bad about things anymore.
Time had a way of changing things.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
How are you today
I've moved through depression, am working my way through anger, bypassed denial and bargaining and am well on my way to acceptance. But it still sucks.
I had a really good day. I mean, nothing quite spectacular occurred but I just felt good. I wasn't sad, I wasn't angry, I wasn't even moody and for an actress that's a big accomplishment.
But then this wave of restlessness hit me and I started to wonder what was up.
I wasn't sure if it was just my hormones or my lack of consumed protein or maybe dehydration or I just needed to go for a run but something left me with an overwhelming sense of ickiness.
That would be the technical term.
And then I drew a parallel.
The restlessness I felt, the desire to do something but not quite sure what or go somewhere but unsure where left me in an all too familiar zone of indecisiveness. This is just how I'd felt all those months ago. And trying to shake this current incurable restlessness reminded me of shaking off my former state and that made me even more restless.
Damn vicious cycle.
Someone tell the Carnie I want off this ride.
The problem with romance is that it is an addictively unique high. It's impossible to replicate and it taints the once colorful palate of isolation you used to revel in. Once you've been away from it long enough you again experience heightened joys from simple things; from solitude, from unprompted happenstance, from books, from the serene corners of nature you hide in.
But after indulging in it intensely it's hard to find anything quite comparable. Suddenly the things you preferred seem lacking somehow and that annoys you almost as much as the fact that you can't pick up the phone and tell him about the funny thing that happened today.
Why do things have to change before you're finished enjoying them? Why do there have to be so many arbitrary rules? Can't we write them as we go along, as we see fit? Can't we dare to not be like the rest of them?
Le sigh.
I remember sitting on a curb with the Fragile Inconsistent and he was determined we were gonna be different, that we wouldn't be like the rest of the world, the patterns that unfolded again and again. No, we would rise above them and we would prevail!
Of course, we never talk anymore and shortly thereafter we had a terribly ugly falling out. But for that moment, for that glorious hour, minute, second, whatever, we were unlike the masses. Or at least deluded enough to believe we were.
Now I'm smart enough to know I'm no different, I just miss my friend.
If he was your best friend at work then why'd you leave? My new coworker asked me.
Time for a change of scene, I lied.
Change; so damn opportunistic, so damn costly.
What are you going to do today? my Mother asked me.
Well, I need to clean my room but I don't want to.
Some things never change, Mother smiled.
Yeah, some things don't ever change.
Only the things you don't want to change seem to be incapable of not changing.
That Change, she sure is one clever bitch.
I guess just too much of a good thing can't be good for you. Or at least that's what the masses say.
And everything we had was just too perfect. That's what he'd say.
Guess it's better we all suck it up, put aside our dissatisfaction and box it away next to our desires and join the rest of the world in our quest for nullified mediocrity.
Who wants something different anyway.
Greatness is overrated. Give me complacency any day.
It works so well after all.
Aren't you just giddy with satsfaction?
I had a really good day. I mean, nothing quite spectacular occurred but I just felt good. I wasn't sad, I wasn't angry, I wasn't even moody and for an actress that's a big accomplishment.
But then this wave of restlessness hit me and I started to wonder what was up.
I wasn't sure if it was just my hormones or my lack of consumed protein or maybe dehydration or I just needed to go for a run but something left me with an overwhelming sense of ickiness.
That would be the technical term.
And then I drew a parallel.
The restlessness I felt, the desire to do something but not quite sure what or go somewhere but unsure where left me in an all too familiar zone of indecisiveness. This is just how I'd felt all those months ago. And trying to shake this current incurable restlessness reminded me of shaking off my former state and that made me even more restless.
Damn vicious cycle.
Someone tell the Carnie I want off this ride.
The problem with romance is that it is an addictively unique high. It's impossible to replicate and it taints the once colorful palate of isolation you used to revel in. Once you've been away from it long enough you again experience heightened joys from simple things; from solitude, from unprompted happenstance, from books, from the serene corners of nature you hide in.
But after indulging in it intensely it's hard to find anything quite comparable. Suddenly the things you preferred seem lacking somehow and that annoys you almost as much as the fact that you can't pick up the phone and tell him about the funny thing that happened today.
Why do things have to change before you're finished enjoying them? Why do there have to be so many arbitrary rules? Can't we write them as we go along, as we see fit? Can't we dare to not be like the rest of them?
Le sigh.
I remember sitting on a curb with the Fragile Inconsistent and he was determined we were gonna be different, that we wouldn't be like the rest of the world, the patterns that unfolded again and again. No, we would rise above them and we would prevail!
Of course, we never talk anymore and shortly thereafter we had a terribly ugly falling out. But for that moment, for that glorious hour, minute, second, whatever, we were unlike the masses. Or at least deluded enough to believe we were.
Now I'm smart enough to know I'm no different, I just miss my friend.
If he was your best friend at work then why'd you leave? My new coworker asked me.
Time for a change of scene, I lied.
Change; so damn opportunistic, so damn costly.
What are you going to do today? my Mother asked me.
Well, I need to clean my room but I don't want to.
Some things never change, Mother smiled.
Yeah, some things don't ever change.
Only the things you don't want to change seem to be incapable of not changing.
That Change, she sure is one clever bitch.
I guess just too much of a good thing can't be good for you. Or at least that's what the masses say.
And everything we had was just too perfect. That's what he'd say.
Guess it's better we all suck it up, put aside our dissatisfaction and box it away next to our desires and join the rest of the world in our quest for nullified mediocrity.
Who wants something different anyway.
Greatness is overrated. Give me complacency any day.
It works so well after all.
Aren't you just giddy with satsfaction?
Sunday, October 17, 2010
You gotta eat your spinach, baby
The other night I hit a turning point.
That would be the understatement of the week.
Let me rephrase.
I hit a ridiculous, uncharacteristically absurd, most pathetic, unfeminine, anti Resa point.
I drank an entire bottle of red, consumed enough sugar to make a diabetic comatose and wallowed in my loneliness like a prepubescent teenager pining for the most popular boy in school who doesn't even know my name.
Nothing says I'm indifferent like self imposed, self destructive behavior.
That'll show 'em! Look what I can do! Look how much I DON'T care.
It's like I'm 19 all over again and no one understands my pain.
Oh good grief.
And when the stomachache and the headache greeted me the next morning so did my common sense.
What the hell was wrong with me? And how did I let myself get here?
Damn wine. A fine red is like a fine man; alluring, delicious, inviting and yet once consumed, if indulged in its entirety, it knocks you on your sorry ass and you're left feeling a little down, a little dizzy and a little disillusioned.
And I thought about how this whole being mature thing really blows. And sometimes a little reckless irresponsibility is needed. I can't behave ALL the time. That would be boring. That would be beige.
That would be the antithesis of Resa.
And then I felt a sick wave of devious pleasure when I recalled the blaring truth.
I, vixen that I am, embody the forbidden, the untouchable, the don't you just wish you could get your hands on indulgence that eternally leaves your appetite insatiable. I am the chocolate chip cookies. Warm, addictive, melt in your mouth chocolate chip cookies. And you have been told you can no longer have chocolate chip cookies, that you will never again taste your favorite chocolate chip cookies. And instead you are to eat spinach for the rest of your life. You can fry it, you can sautee it, you can steam it, eat it raw or douse it in tabasco sauce but it is still just spinach.
Not chocolate chip cookies.
And these cookies have no limitations, no dietary restrictions, no consuming dos and donts.
They just are, in all their sweet, juicy, yumminess, laying there.
Can't you just smell how good they are?
But too bad. Your spinach is waiting for you with a side of steaming hot guilt and mashed controlling manipulation.
Mmm. Eat up! Or there'll be no dessert.
And I know how much you love dessert.
That would be the understatement of the week.
Let me rephrase.
I hit a ridiculous, uncharacteristically absurd, most pathetic, unfeminine, anti Resa point.
I drank an entire bottle of red, consumed enough sugar to make a diabetic comatose and wallowed in my loneliness like a prepubescent teenager pining for the most popular boy in school who doesn't even know my name.
Nothing says I'm indifferent like self imposed, self destructive behavior.
That'll show 'em! Look what I can do! Look how much I DON'T care.
It's like I'm 19 all over again and no one understands my pain.
Oh good grief.
And when the stomachache and the headache greeted me the next morning so did my common sense.
What the hell was wrong with me? And how did I let myself get here?
Damn wine. A fine red is like a fine man; alluring, delicious, inviting and yet once consumed, if indulged in its entirety, it knocks you on your sorry ass and you're left feeling a little down, a little dizzy and a little disillusioned.
And I thought about how this whole being mature thing really blows. And sometimes a little reckless irresponsibility is needed. I can't behave ALL the time. That would be boring. That would be beige.
That would be the antithesis of Resa.
And then I felt a sick wave of devious pleasure when I recalled the blaring truth.
I, vixen that I am, embody the forbidden, the untouchable, the don't you just wish you could get your hands on indulgence that eternally leaves your appetite insatiable. I am the chocolate chip cookies. Warm, addictive, melt in your mouth chocolate chip cookies. And you have been told you can no longer have chocolate chip cookies, that you will never again taste your favorite chocolate chip cookies. And instead you are to eat spinach for the rest of your life. You can fry it, you can sautee it, you can steam it, eat it raw or douse it in tabasco sauce but it is still just spinach.
Not chocolate chip cookies.
And these cookies have no limitations, no dietary restrictions, no consuming dos and donts.
They just are, in all their sweet, juicy, yumminess, laying there.
Can't you just smell how good they are?
But too bad. Your spinach is waiting for you with a side of steaming hot guilt and mashed controlling manipulation.
Mmm. Eat up! Or there'll be no dessert.
And I know how much you love dessert.
Together in Separation
Hey you. Yes you. I don't want the abstractions of relationship. I want your heart.
I sat in the bistro listening to the french music, sipping the smooth red wine and had a most delicious thought. My heartache, my suffering stirred in me such emotion, such passion, such a desire to communicate all that I longed for and may never possess. And that, that made me like every great, every tragic artist, composer, author, musician. Yes, with all self indulgence, with every pretension, I could expose the fragile state of my heart into the passion of art.
The pain that did not consume but was overcome was the pain that transformed into inspiration.
Or could at least attempt to do so. And an attempt was far more inviting than the acceptance of the end of something beautiful.
And I smiled as I realized that my pain, too, would transform. It must. It already was. And while I may never have him in entirety, I possessed his spirit, I hid in his thoughts and his eyes, those loving, nervous eyes, that poured over every passionate word.
And in that connection, in that practice, we always remained, entwined, separately together.
I sat in the bistro listening to the french music, sipping the smooth red wine and had a most delicious thought. My heartache, my suffering stirred in me such emotion, such passion, such a desire to communicate all that I longed for and may never possess. And that, that made me like every great, every tragic artist, composer, author, musician. Yes, with all self indulgence, with every pretension, I could expose the fragile state of my heart into the passion of art.
The pain that did not consume but was overcome was the pain that transformed into inspiration.
Or could at least attempt to do so. And an attempt was far more inviting than the acceptance of the end of something beautiful.
And I smiled as I realized that my pain, too, would transform. It must. It already was. And while I may never have him in entirety, I possessed his spirit, I hid in his thoughts and his eyes, those loving, nervous eyes, that poured over every passionate word.
And in that connection, in that practice, we always remained, entwined, separately together.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Our Playground
The tiny girl carefully balanced atop the plastic ladder and paused, searching, pleading. Mom the little cherub's voice softly called. I'm right here the Mother reassured, standing by. And the realization of being watched caused the girl to smile, beaming. She delighted in knowing she was seen.
And I, too, had been seen, as a tiny cherub, as an alluring woman.
When I was a small child I climbed into my Grandfather's lap, cupping his face in my hands and declared You're not paying enough attention to me. Dumbfounded, he stared, speechless.
And so it goes, the line of men standing in their memories behind me, their confused, disbelieving minds over the Resa that is me. And the craziness they learned not to understand. But wished they could.
What a delicate balance relationships seem to be. The decisions we question, the Shoulds we allow to overwhelm the contradicting newness that consumes us. The pain we draw strength from as our hearts let go of the selfishness we desperately long to cling to. The compromise, the sacrifice, the forgiveness that wills us to forgetfulness. And always, the recollections of the paths we passed which alongside the age of time grow far less vivid. Yet their fading image lingers.
The young girl peddaling on her tricycle, reveling in her solitude, halts when her Mother asks her to give her little sister a ride too. No! The peddling cherub pronounces. And races away from both of them. This is her time, it is not to be shared. And the baby sister, crying, shuffles over to her Mother to be comforted over her sisters unwillingness to share this moment.
And I secretly rejoiced at the stubborn child's declaration of freeing independence.
Yet, if I were that Mother, what would be the right thing to do? Surely, a young child embracing all that is in her, all the creativity welling inside of her, needs the freedom to be alone, to express her emotions, to delight in her selfness. And equally so, she needs to learn the art of sharing, of compromise, of a love that includes. And how is one to know which time is which?
Where exists the balance? Is such a proposition a possibility?
I reflected over my own childhood, one that unlike those who dain strong recollections I instead have colorless, vague memories, remembering little and questioning whether that which I do remember has merely been retold to me. I was very loved. Both my parents were present. I was encouraged and delighted in. I had the freedom to speak my mind, to creatively express myself and all the mess that trailed behind.
And in such love, existed the imperceptible compromise I never knew.
Love sacrifices. Love lets go of its selfish dreams and instead gives up all for the betterment of others, of one worth loving more than oneself. Love releases. Love understands all that cannot be not because it wouldn't be radiant but because while it flourished others may wither. They mightn't, they could surprise. Changes could open new doors and new chapters but the fear of inducing pain on the ones you want to protect outweighs your hunger for adventure, for possibility, for the feeling in your gut that flips in knots.
And as I watched the little screamers playing unawares I saw that his heart, while seemingly torn betwixt two, actually lied with a pair of untouchables.
And that was a good thing, that was a beautiful thing. That is what I would want.
And my selfishness, trying to break its way out of the buried room inside of me, failed in its vain attempts.
I already saw the wonder that I'd fallen for. And somehow loved even more in accepting it must never be, not for him, not for me, but for them.
Always, only, for them.
And I, too, had been seen, as a tiny cherub, as an alluring woman.
When I was a small child I climbed into my Grandfather's lap, cupping his face in my hands and declared You're not paying enough attention to me. Dumbfounded, he stared, speechless.
And so it goes, the line of men standing in their memories behind me, their confused, disbelieving minds over the Resa that is me. And the craziness they learned not to understand. But wished they could.
What a delicate balance relationships seem to be. The decisions we question, the Shoulds we allow to overwhelm the contradicting newness that consumes us. The pain we draw strength from as our hearts let go of the selfishness we desperately long to cling to. The compromise, the sacrifice, the forgiveness that wills us to forgetfulness. And always, the recollections of the paths we passed which alongside the age of time grow far less vivid. Yet their fading image lingers.
The young girl peddaling on her tricycle, reveling in her solitude, halts when her Mother asks her to give her little sister a ride too. No! The peddling cherub pronounces. And races away from both of them. This is her time, it is not to be shared. And the baby sister, crying, shuffles over to her Mother to be comforted over her sisters unwillingness to share this moment.
And I secretly rejoiced at the stubborn child's declaration of freeing independence.
Yet, if I were that Mother, what would be the right thing to do? Surely, a young child embracing all that is in her, all the creativity welling inside of her, needs the freedom to be alone, to express her emotions, to delight in her selfness. And equally so, she needs to learn the art of sharing, of compromise, of a love that includes. And how is one to know which time is which?
Where exists the balance? Is such a proposition a possibility?
I reflected over my own childhood, one that unlike those who dain strong recollections I instead have colorless, vague memories, remembering little and questioning whether that which I do remember has merely been retold to me. I was very loved. Both my parents were present. I was encouraged and delighted in. I had the freedom to speak my mind, to creatively express myself and all the mess that trailed behind.
And in such love, existed the imperceptible compromise I never knew.
Love sacrifices. Love lets go of its selfish dreams and instead gives up all for the betterment of others, of one worth loving more than oneself. Love releases. Love understands all that cannot be not because it wouldn't be radiant but because while it flourished others may wither. They mightn't, they could surprise. Changes could open new doors and new chapters but the fear of inducing pain on the ones you want to protect outweighs your hunger for adventure, for possibility, for the feeling in your gut that flips in knots.
And as I watched the little screamers playing unawares I saw that his heart, while seemingly torn betwixt two, actually lied with a pair of untouchables.
And that was a good thing, that was a beautiful thing. That is what I would want.
And my selfishness, trying to break its way out of the buried room inside of me, failed in its vain attempts.
I already saw the wonder that I'd fallen for. And somehow loved even more in accepting it must never be, not for him, not for me, but for them.
Always, only, for them.
Your Prayer
Dear Heavenly Father,
I thank you in advance for answering this prayer and tossing his mountain into the sea.
I have faith in you constantly and I do not doubt in my heart at all that the plans you have for him are to give him a hope and a future.
You give life to the dead and speak of nonexistent things as if they already existed.
I hold no unbelief, no distrust concerning the promises of God.
I grow strong and am empowered by faith, giving praise and glory to God.
You have a plan for him, a plan to prosper him and not to harm him.
I am fully satisfied and assured that God is able and mighty to keep His word and do what He promised. My faith is granted as righteousness.
Thank you for granting him favor.
Now to Him who by the power that is at work within us is able to do superabundantly far over and above all that we dare ask or think. And whatever I ask for in prayer having faith and really believing, I will receive.
Thank you for granting him mercy and forgiveness and restoration.
Thank you for being the rewarder of those who earnestly and diligently seek you.
Thank you for blessing him in his new chapter.
Thank you for strengthening him and drawing him closer to you, for opening the eyes of his heart and flooding them with light so that he may know and understand the hope to which you have called him.
And so that he can know what is the immeasurable and unlimited and surpassing greatness of Your power in and for us who believe as demonstrated in the working of your mighty strength.
Thank you for second chances, for take twos.
Thank you for using them to bring glory and honor to your name.
Thank you for abiding in me, for your words remaining in my heart so that whatever I ask it shall be done for me. Faith is the assurance of the things we hope for being the proof of things we do not see.
And I hope in what I cannot see waiting for it with patience and composure.
I thank you for renewing his mind, for aligning his will to Yours.
For no weapon that is formed against him shall prosper and every tongue that rises against him in judgment he shall show to be in the wrong.
I pray this in Jesus' mighty name.
Thank you for answering this prayer.
Your loving mercy endures forever.
Amen.
I thank you in advance for answering this prayer and tossing his mountain into the sea.
I have faith in you constantly and I do not doubt in my heart at all that the plans you have for him are to give him a hope and a future.
You give life to the dead and speak of nonexistent things as if they already existed.
I hold no unbelief, no distrust concerning the promises of God.
I grow strong and am empowered by faith, giving praise and glory to God.
You have a plan for him, a plan to prosper him and not to harm him.
I am fully satisfied and assured that God is able and mighty to keep His word and do what He promised. My faith is granted as righteousness.
Thank you for granting him favor.
Now to Him who by the power that is at work within us is able to do superabundantly far over and above all that we dare ask or think. And whatever I ask for in prayer having faith and really believing, I will receive.
Thank you for granting him mercy and forgiveness and restoration.
Thank you for being the rewarder of those who earnestly and diligently seek you.
Thank you for blessing him in his new chapter.
Thank you for strengthening him and drawing him closer to you, for opening the eyes of his heart and flooding them with light so that he may know and understand the hope to which you have called him.
And so that he can know what is the immeasurable and unlimited and surpassing greatness of Your power in and for us who believe as demonstrated in the working of your mighty strength.
Thank you for second chances, for take twos.
Thank you for using them to bring glory and honor to your name.
Thank you for abiding in me, for your words remaining in my heart so that whatever I ask it shall be done for me. Faith is the assurance of the things we hope for being the proof of things we do not see.
And I hope in what I cannot see waiting for it with patience and composure.
I thank you for renewing his mind, for aligning his will to Yours.
For no weapon that is formed against him shall prosper and every tongue that rises against him in judgment he shall show to be in the wrong.
I pray this in Jesus' mighty name.
Thank you for answering this prayer.
Your loving mercy endures forever.
Amen.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
The Mountains that Move for You
I say to the mountain be lifted up and tossed in the sea.
And I do not doubt in my heart.
I believe what I say will take place.
And it is done for me.
And God loves us and as His children he sometimes needs to discipline us. When we ignore the soft whisperings inside of us he let's things and people mold us and shape us. He is constantly trying to mold us in His image and prepare us for what lies ahead.
It's so hard to remember all that awaits beyond the right now. And even that is a riddle. I should not reflect over my past, remembering the former things. I should not focus my eyes on the future. I should embrace all that is today in this moment, every opportunity, every possibility, every way He desires to use me and with whom. But sometimes He breaks the Shoulds to awaken something new, to shake the unshakeable, to break down the mountains that stand in our way.
And there are times when considering the things of old can comfort. I looked over the pond and thought about all I'd endured and survived, the buckets of tears that had long since dried up, the shattered illusions that paved roads for truth. And all that is now, all that is yet to be, cannot diminish how far I have come.
I am capable of so much more than I ever thought possible.
And so are you.
Buried beneath the doubt and insecurity, the misgivings and uncertainty, lies one unlike any other, one who is not only strong enough by His grace but is capable of all he doesn't see in himself. Perhaps He gave me eyes to see the treasures buried amongst the seemingly without so I could reassure them, you too are enough and so worth it all, the wait, the patience, the forgiveness, the trust.
Open your eyes, darling, and see the emerald inside of you.
And I do not doubt in my heart.
I believe what I say will take place.
And it is done for me.
And God loves us and as His children he sometimes needs to discipline us. When we ignore the soft whisperings inside of us he let's things and people mold us and shape us. He is constantly trying to mold us in His image and prepare us for what lies ahead.
It's so hard to remember all that awaits beyond the right now. And even that is a riddle. I should not reflect over my past, remembering the former things. I should not focus my eyes on the future. I should embrace all that is today in this moment, every opportunity, every possibility, every way He desires to use me and with whom. But sometimes He breaks the Shoulds to awaken something new, to shake the unshakeable, to break down the mountains that stand in our way.
And there are times when considering the things of old can comfort. I looked over the pond and thought about all I'd endured and survived, the buckets of tears that had long since dried up, the shattered illusions that paved roads for truth. And all that is now, all that is yet to be, cannot diminish how far I have come.
I am capable of so much more than I ever thought possible.
And so are you.
Buried beneath the doubt and insecurity, the misgivings and uncertainty, lies one unlike any other, one who is not only strong enough by His grace but is capable of all he doesn't see in himself. Perhaps He gave me eyes to see the treasures buried amongst the seemingly without so I could reassure them, you too are enough and so worth it all, the wait, the patience, the forgiveness, the trust.
Open your eyes, darling, and see the emerald inside of you.
Not like them
The sun shone without expectation and I slowed my pace as the waves of memories brushed against me.
I thought about my former lost love, how during our initial fasting from one another I wrote every day, in all my raw, vulnerable honesty, uncandidly, for all the High School Cafeteria to see. Skeptics discouraged these efforts, pleading the vanity of such misguided faith. Yet I, knowing the heart of the Confused somehow knew in spite of everyone's wisdom, our truth lay in a communication without reciprocity. All I felt, all I feared and needed and longed for I poured into those little public notes. And somehow, my heart was reassured knowing he read each and every one and took comfort in reading them just as I took comfort in writing them. And as days, weeks passed, however time dained to move back then, there came the moment when our faces delighted upon one another once again. And he told me how much it meant to him, all I had written.
Reading your writing really helped because I missed you and I love your writing.
Truly, in that moment of perfect honesty I learned that my truths are not everyone else's truths. Some truths belong to a sparse few and those of us that share in such a rarity delight in our secret rituals.
This is for me and this is for you and I know that you know all each day carries and misses and wishes.
And words are hollow and actions are true.
And I know right now the Shoulds have won over the Wants.
But my words, these words, your words, our words, sing louder than the chapters you're hiding in.
Words, words, words.
Such truth, such deceit, such feigned reformed desire, such delicious uncertainty.
And these songs playing paint smiles on my lips.
And privately, our thoughts dance toward one another, reveling in each truthful lyric. Such melodies were reserved for these ears, these hands, these blushing cheeks.
And the ticks lead to tocks and we while away each hour and distract with undistracting half truths. And soon the boxes will give way and the walls will crumble and these eyes will once again see the truth you try to hide, as only you could.
I thought about my former lost love, how during our initial fasting from one another I wrote every day, in all my raw, vulnerable honesty, uncandidly, for all the High School Cafeteria to see. Skeptics discouraged these efforts, pleading the vanity of such misguided faith. Yet I, knowing the heart of the Confused somehow knew in spite of everyone's wisdom, our truth lay in a communication without reciprocity. All I felt, all I feared and needed and longed for I poured into those little public notes. And somehow, my heart was reassured knowing he read each and every one and took comfort in reading them just as I took comfort in writing them. And as days, weeks passed, however time dained to move back then, there came the moment when our faces delighted upon one another once again. And he told me how much it meant to him, all I had written.
Reading your writing really helped because I missed you and I love your writing.
Truly, in that moment of perfect honesty I learned that my truths are not everyone else's truths. Some truths belong to a sparse few and those of us that share in such a rarity delight in our secret rituals.
This is for me and this is for you and I know that you know all each day carries and misses and wishes.
And words are hollow and actions are true.
And I know right now the Shoulds have won over the Wants.
But my words, these words, your words, our words, sing louder than the chapters you're hiding in.
Words, words, words.
Such truth, such deceit, such feigned reformed desire, such delicious uncertainty.
And these songs playing paint smiles on my lips.
And privately, our thoughts dance toward one another, reveling in each truthful lyric. Such melodies were reserved for these ears, these hands, these blushing cheeks.
And the ticks lead to tocks and we while away each hour and distract with undistracting half truths. And soon the boxes will give way and the walls will crumble and these eyes will once again see the truth you try to hide, as only you could.
I Want Wanting
It occurred to me recently that all of my greatest loves, the long and the short, the tragic and the unfortunate, the little lion men and the pretenders, were all ended by them. I have ended relationships, yes, but only the ones so brief their existence seemed questionable. How was it possible that I, someone so very forward, so uncharacteristically honest, could never have been the instigator of the finality of a true love affair?
Tell me, what does this ink blot cause you to see?
Truly, the Big G must have a keen sense of humor to fashion into form a woman with an overwhelmingly enduring capacity to love, possibly even fatally so, and yet not aligned this woman's path with a man capable of keeping up with her. Life is comedy, tragically beautiful comedy.
Somehow she knew in spite of her romanrtic notions that it had to be him that she was capable of loving anyone with the passion bubbling inside of her. The love she found year after year was a reflection of her, his eyes mirrored the genuine affection she so freely gave and in rare chapters there existed the possibility that a strong counterpart possessed the passion fiery enough to rival hers. But always, ever imperceptibly, the rivals laid down their cards and walked dejectedly away from the table, casting sidelong glances over slumped shoulders. They marvel and they wonder and they're intrigued but their fearful doubts overshadow their desire.
I'm too scared to act, the moment's passed.
And so we change we grow we release we lose we are without that which we never fully possessed.
And secretly, blissfully, the existence of such knowledge that there are others who will fall as you have and with a surprising third act twist, they will linger, long enough to embrace that which was worth the risk.
They will hold on.
And fall.
Tell me, what does this ink blot cause you to see?
Truly, the Big G must have a keen sense of humor to fashion into form a woman with an overwhelmingly enduring capacity to love, possibly even fatally so, and yet not aligned this woman's path with a man capable of keeping up with her. Life is comedy, tragically beautiful comedy.
Somehow she knew in spite of her romanrtic notions that it had to be him that she was capable of loving anyone with the passion bubbling inside of her. The love she found year after year was a reflection of her, his eyes mirrored the genuine affection she so freely gave and in rare chapters there existed the possibility that a strong counterpart possessed the passion fiery enough to rival hers. But always, ever imperceptibly, the rivals laid down their cards and walked dejectedly away from the table, casting sidelong glances over slumped shoulders. They marvel and they wonder and they're intrigued but their fearful doubts overshadow their desire.
I'm too scared to act, the moment's passed.
And so we change we grow we release we lose we are without that which we never fully possessed.
And secretly, blissfully, the existence of such knowledge that there are others who will fall as you have and with a surprising third act twist, they will linger, long enough to embrace that which was worth the risk.
They will hold on.
And fall.
Gave You All
I'm running away to a time that's only mine
Where the trees that hug these paths paint a day that is sublime
And I will hide amidst the shadows and the light breaking through
And I will remember all that was, all that is too perfect to be true
And I will watch the spiders dance and weave their trials on display
And reassure them they are beautiful, that theirs is the only way
And I will crawl beneath the leaves that protect the exalted tree
And revel at the towering majesty revealed when silence frees
And I will think of you, knowing you would see all I feel, hear all I hear
If only you would muster the courage to close your eyes, falling from your fear
And I know with absence this distance weighs and breaths are strained
And your confused smiles stifle a mind that fights a love that is feigned
And I am alone
And I am free
And I am in you
And He is in me
And these little feet that carry a dance skipping each beat
Can't shake the love remaining within a hearts attempted defeat
Awaken, my troubled love, to the beauty surrounding you
Let's run away to all we know to be true
Take my hand, we'll conqueor them all,
Awaken your soul, allow it to fall
Where the trees that hug these paths paint a day that is sublime
And I will hide amidst the shadows and the light breaking through
And I will remember all that was, all that is too perfect to be true
And I will watch the spiders dance and weave their trials on display
And reassure them they are beautiful, that theirs is the only way
And I will crawl beneath the leaves that protect the exalted tree
And revel at the towering majesty revealed when silence frees
And I will think of you, knowing you would see all I feel, hear all I hear
If only you would muster the courage to close your eyes, falling from your fear
And I know with absence this distance weighs and breaths are strained
And your confused smiles stifle a mind that fights a love that is feigned
And I am alone
And I am free
And I am in you
And He is in me
And these little feet that carry a dance skipping each beat
Can't shake the love remaining within a hearts attempted defeat
Awaken, my troubled love, to the beauty surrounding you
Let's run away to all we know to be true
Take my hand, we'll conqueor them all,
Awaken your soul, allow it to fall
Monday, October 11, 2010
Perspective
"You certainly can't always look at things from someone else's Point of View. For instance, from here that looks like a bucket of water," he said, pointing to a bucket of water; "but from an ant's point of view it's a vast ocean, from an elephant's just a cool drink, and to a fish, of course, it's home. So, you see, the way you see things depends a great deal on where you look at them from."-The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster
One of my favorite books of all time is The Phantom Tollbooth, not only because it's a brilliantly written childrens novel but because my big brother read it alooud with me at an age where it was uncool for us to be friends. Leave it to books to bring us together. Similarly, writing connected us when I lived three thousand miles away. Words are pretty powerful business. They can make or break, restore or demolish and in some cases, encourage the affections of those that shouldn't be encouraged but no one ever said I was entirely wholesome, except, of course, for the Psuedo but clearly, he is jaded.
A man sat by me the other day asking me about my computer. That looks pretty new, he commented. And I said it was, only but two years old. He told me he was waiting for the bus, that it comes every twenty minutes on Sundays. You have a car? he had asked me and I nodded that I did. LUCKY! he emphatically declared. And it made me smile remembering how truly lucky I really am.
Someone I know was complaining about his birthday because he had to study and then serve at the Portland Mission until 10pm. I thought, when I first heard him talking, what a wonderful way to spend your birthday, loving others, giving to those desperate in need, realizing how much you have to be thankful for. Pretty stellar of him, I thought, but he was complaining about it. He had to be there because he's the head of the board, a title his legalism dains he possess, not out of a desire to serve but to collect labels of superiority.
I'm better than you because I do this selfless act. Do you do this selfless act? Because I do. Don't you wish you were like me and my giving heart?
Isn't it funny though? I am in absolutely the worst place imaginable to try and pass judgment on anyone, though truthfully, we all are always incapable of such feigned pride. Yet all I can see, all I hear is a troubled heart, one that doesn't know and embrace the furious love of God, His unfailing grace and forgiveness. I see someone incapable of showing any true compassion because he himself has never needed it.
The beauty of falling and shattering entirely is that God has the freedom to rebuild you as He sees fit. I've been put back together many a time and this lady, while cracked, is one tough cookie. Ain't no haters stealin' this goddess' joy. She is a treasure and very much worth the time, worth the wait, worth the forgiving love so many refuse to embody.
But I guess it's all in how you choose to see things. And there are two types of people in this world: those who love what they see and those who hate because they cannot see.
One of my favorite books of all time is The Phantom Tollbooth, not only because it's a brilliantly written childrens novel but because my big brother read it alooud with me at an age where it was uncool for us to be friends. Leave it to books to bring us together. Similarly, writing connected us when I lived three thousand miles away. Words are pretty powerful business. They can make or break, restore or demolish and in some cases, encourage the affections of those that shouldn't be encouraged but no one ever said I was entirely wholesome, except, of course, for the Psuedo but clearly, he is jaded.
A man sat by me the other day asking me about my computer. That looks pretty new, he commented. And I said it was, only but two years old. He told me he was waiting for the bus, that it comes every twenty minutes on Sundays. You have a car? he had asked me and I nodded that I did. LUCKY! he emphatically declared. And it made me smile remembering how truly lucky I really am.
Someone I know was complaining about his birthday because he had to study and then serve at the Portland Mission until 10pm. I thought, when I first heard him talking, what a wonderful way to spend your birthday, loving others, giving to those desperate in need, realizing how much you have to be thankful for. Pretty stellar of him, I thought, but he was complaining about it. He had to be there because he's the head of the board, a title his legalism dains he possess, not out of a desire to serve but to collect labels of superiority.
I'm better than you because I do this selfless act. Do you do this selfless act? Because I do. Don't you wish you were like me and my giving heart?
Isn't it funny though? I am in absolutely the worst place imaginable to try and pass judgment on anyone, though truthfully, we all are always incapable of such feigned pride. Yet all I can see, all I hear is a troubled heart, one that doesn't know and embrace the furious love of God, His unfailing grace and forgiveness. I see someone incapable of showing any true compassion because he himself has never needed it.
The beauty of falling and shattering entirely is that God has the freedom to rebuild you as He sees fit. I've been put back together many a time and this lady, while cracked, is one tough cookie. Ain't no haters stealin' this goddess' joy. She is a treasure and very much worth the time, worth the wait, worth the forgiving love so many refuse to embody.
But I guess it's all in how you choose to see things. And there are two types of people in this world: those who love what they see and those who hate because they cannot see.
My Favorite
I wasn't sure I really understood the compliment You're like oxygen. I knew it was praise, I knew that to breathe easier meant one was relaxed and calm, comforted, content. But not until I began to find my own air stifling did I realize how truly serene it is to find someone who fills your soul like sweet oxygen.
I had found, in spite of my rebellious independence, a similar feeling, a comfort in the connection and presence of one that felt like a deep sigh of relief in contrast to the smothering, hate mongers who plotted and ployed and dropped their drops of acid upon me each time I turned my back.
He did not see as they saw, he did not deem as they deemed, he was incapable. He only loved, selfishly, selflessly, stumbling love.
And I was grateful.
And I sat in the suns silence drinking in the serenity of my favorite place, the park that remained year after year, heartache after heartache, great fool after fool, as my reminder of all that ever was, all I'd already overcome, all that awaited my hopeful discovery.
And I felt the sublime oxygen of the Purely Selfless. The lack of people, the temperate breeze, the beauty that enfolded me were gifts from my Love. He comforted when all else was taken away. And heaving deep breaths of remembrance, I accepted the truth that painted all others beige.
My rainbow sparkles in spite of their clouds.
I had found, in spite of my rebellious independence, a similar feeling, a comfort in the connection and presence of one that felt like a deep sigh of relief in contrast to the smothering, hate mongers who plotted and ployed and dropped their drops of acid upon me each time I turned my back.
He did not see as they saw, he did not deem as they deemed, he was incapable. He only loved, selfishly, selflessly, stumbling love.
And I was grateful.
And I sat in the suns silence drinking in the serenity of my favorite place, the park that remained year after year, heartache after heartache, great fool after fool, as my reminder of all that ever was, all I'd already overcome, all that awaited my hopeful discovery.
And I felt the sublime oxygen of the Purely Selfless. The lack of people, the temperate breeze, the beauty that enfolded me were gifts from my Love. He comforted when all else was taken away. And heaving deep breaths of remembrance, I accepted the truth that painted all others beige.
My rainbow sparkles in spite of their clouds.
My weakness lays fine grounds for His strength.
I am not defeated by my love, I draw strength from it.
And He delights in pushing me past the realms I thought I'd reach.
And such a long way have we left to go.
Smiling, I stand and walk again.
This too shall pass.
And I will never go wrong believing the best in people.
They too have a long way to go.
But I have already ran ahead and none of them can catch me.
And what a joy to never glance behind. There is so much to see right in front of me.
I am not defeated by my love, I draw strength from it.
And He delights in pushing me past the realms I thought I'd reach.
And such a long way have we left to go.
Smiling, I stand and walk again.
This too shall pass.
And I will never go wrong believing the best in people.
They too have a long way to go.
But I have already ran ahead and none of them can catch me.
And what a joy to never glance behind. There is so much to see right in front of me.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
The hard hearted heartless unveiled
The other day I receieved a pretty incredible gift. I say incredible which may seem like a bit of an overstatement when I unfold what took place but allow me to explain.
One of the most challenging, most mind numbing, painful, pride swallowing, daunting tasks we must endure is loving our enemies. Oh sure, you think you're little Miss Pollyanna able to be the shining optimist amidst the Negative Nancies and Terrible Tom's but just wait. There's always that one, wretchedly vile, unforgivable, most offendable beast of a person who will inflict a desire in your gut to induce pain.
Harsh. Real. Pain.
Oh I know, I know, you won't admit it. And why should you? Your dirty little secrets are your dirty little secrets. I would never think that, your pride lies. Oh, but you would, you will, you do and if you don't learn to redirect it, 'twill eat you alive, my friend.
I have one of those. One of those ever so delightful, smile killing pests of an evil presence in my life and not only do they consistently go out of their way to make the intensity of their hate for me known but they just so happen to be way too closely linked to my way too fresh wound of a past.
Le sigh.
Nothing strengthens the heart more than enduring hate from those intertwined with the ones you've loved.
And they say life doesn't have a sense of humor.
BAH!
So this darling, as I'll call him, became loud and clear my project of the hour. You were brought into my life to strengthen my patience and God is not going to remove you from my life until I learn the lesson, I told him flat out one day. He looked at me with the most amused expression, I swear to God I wanted to slap him. So each day in this darling's presence was a test. Sometimes I passed. You did not steal my joy! Ha! Take that, sucka! And sometimes I failed. I got so angry I thought I was going to scrub the metal right off the counter. I had to pray that God stapled my lips shut so I didn't speak in my anger. The power of life and death, my friend. And this vixen can have a flogging tongue if she so chooses. And the times I let that darling get into my happy bubble I would feel so freakin' annoyed with myself! What is wrong with you? I'd think. You know better. There was this one day that I took the bait and made some unloving comment to the little darling in the context of something like if such and such happened then he'd lose his life. It wouldn't be much to lose, he'd quietly spoken with all sincerity.
Conviction.
This. Guy. Was. A. Lost. Lonely. Soul.
And there's a great reason why God tells us to love our enemies, to bless those who curse us, to do good to those who hate us, to pray for those who spitefully use and persecute us. Because it is the best thing for both of us. He's a pretty clever God, that Big G. He knows his shit.
Beg your pardon. He knows his shizzy.
And there have certainly been times I've had to utter that prayer through gritted teeth for more than one unlovable, but let me tell you....I always feel better when I do. Maybe not while I'm doing it. My flesh is screaming out, No! I wanna set fire to something they love! I wanna murder their dog! I wanna smash something! I want! I want! I want! And then you snap out of it and realize that getting what you want is not always a good thing.
Praise be I'm not the one in control or there'd be a whole lotta flames about Portland. And Rhode Island. And Alaska.
Well, you get the picture.
Anyway, the point is, I, in all gut wrenching humility wrote this darling an encouraging, loving apology for all the ways I'd offended and wronged him and even bought him a book I thought he'd benefit from reading. Did he say anything about it? Of course not. We're not loving to win medals. We love because we must, because it is what we're here to do.
But the gift I did receive is this: A woman who comes into my Starbucks every day came in disheartened recently. When I asked her what was wrong she very severely told me she was not happy with her husband. Never did such small words carry with them such biting disdain. We joked about the obvious things she could do; charge some jewelry on his credit card, bitch over wine with her closest friend. And then in a more serious tone I said, You know what you should do? You should do something really loving for him because when people are really mean to us it confuses them when you're loving towards them. And my little eavesdropping darling was standing right there and chimed in, You've been trying to do that with me and it hasn't been working. And I looked him square in the eyes and said, Yes. It. Has.
You see, he had noticed all I'd been trying to do in my actions towards him and the fact he took note of it and also that it was juxtoposed with his hatred means it was like heaping hot coals on his head!!
That's my new favorite scripture, Loving your enemies is like heaping hot coals on their heads.
Of course, in his case and a few others I'd also like to heap hot coals down their pants.
I'm just that damn loving.
A similar occurrence also happened recently with a gal who had gone out of her way to slander me and make it known where her loyalties lied after my break from Mr. Indecisive. She, like her fellow insecure bitches was incapable of anything that wasn't purely self serving. I remember one time fresh after the heartache she tried to flaunt in my face she was going rollerskating with my lost love and condescendingly sneered, You can probably come too, if you want, I'm sure that'd be ok. And I, mustering every lady like muscle in my being and channeling my Mother, calmly replied, Thank you but I already have plans.
So one day, one lovely, minding my own business kind of a day, I stumbled upon a box of jewelry she had helped me pack when I first moved six months ago and I remember how much she had told me she loved these particular rings. You should give those rings to her, the little voice inside of me urged.
Are you kidding me??! I wanted to scream. Give them to HER! Uh huh. No way! No freaking way!
Sigh.
And then I realized, that's what walking in love is all about, my friends.
So I gathered up the rings and put them in a little pouch and wrote a note of thanks for how she had helped me all those months prior. And I left them with a close friend at her store.
Cut to a month or so later and I'm sent by my store to go to hers to pick up some product and she happens to be there. I am never going to forget her face as she began thanking me for the rings I'd left for her. The confusion and meekness that overcame her made me almost giggle.
You see I could have just been a bitch right back to her, don't think I didn't think about it. But I don't want to be like them. I want to be like Him. However challenging that may be, however much it makes me want to scream over my wounded ego.
I am not of this world. I am here to serve.
And that's also why on this night, anticipating the waves of hate that lie in store for me tomorrow, I chose to write loving cards to each and every one of them. I refuse to let them steal my joy. I refuse to let them turn me into anyone but the loving, bubbly, persistently optimistic Elle Woods I truly am. And they can just eat the chocolate I leave for them and slander me while they do it.
I don't care anymore.
I have so many incredible things just waiting up ahead, I don't have one minute to waste on any of them.
Not the slanderers, the judgmental, the gossips, the haters, not even the hearts that love me in all their confusion.
I want so much more.
And I can't wait to tell you all about it.
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