To be known and loved

It seems like I’m always writing about the complications of human connections, and maybe that’s not so strange. Maybe the topic deserves the examination I give it, heavy and central as it is to existence. I constantly fear that my ability to engage in authentic, healthy relationships with people is stunted and broken beyond repair, so it follows that the capacity of relationships themselves would occupy my head space as it does.    

I awake everyday and complete the requisite steps of a successful life, measured out in coffee spoons, and feel vaguely like pieces are missing, as pieces are missing from everyone’s life. I long to be kind and uncomplicated and untarnished by the weight of time, but mostly when I look in the mirror I see someone over whom sadness has triumphed. Sometimes I think maybe this kind of life, this person, is the only person I could have ever really been good at being and other times it seems like I’ve just given up. I know I was made for more than the life I’m living and I reconcile that reality in small ways as best I can. My turmoil is mostly standard.

I come across things sometimes that illuminate in new ways the burden I force myself to bear, the battle between sincere and deep longings and the cancerous habits I cling to.

What great gravity is this that drew my soul toward yours? You have slid up to the person I wanted to be, the person I pretended to be. Should I show you who I am we may crumble.

I want to known and loved anyways. I trust by your easy breathing that you are human like me, that you are fallen like me, that you are lonely like me. What is this great gravity that pulls us toward each other? Why do we not connect?

I will discover what I can discover of you, and though you remain a mystery, what I find I will keep in the warmest chamber of my heart.

I wonder sometimes if this is all we can really hope for, that there’s nothing to do except give ourselves to each other, then do the same thing tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, though we never seem to get what we need in doing so. Or what we think we need at any rate.

Giving without getting is a revolutionary idea. I’m not sure I know how to do it. But sometimes I feel like it’s the way things are meant to be. All I can do is hope that’s true.

The solitude of prime numbers.

Prime numbers are divisible only by 1 and by themselves. They hold their place in the infinite series of natural numbers, squashed, like all numbers, between two others, but one step further than the rest. They are suspicious, solitary numbers. Sometimes it seems they ended up in the sequence by mistake, that they'd been trapped, like pearls strung on a necklace. Sometimes I wonder if they would have preferred to be like all the others, just ordinary numbers, but for some reason they couldn't do it. Among prime numbers there are some that are even more special. Mathematicians call them twin primes: pairs of prime numbers that are close to each other, almost neighbors, but between them there is always an even number that prevents them from truly touching. Numbers like 11 and 13, 17 and 19, 41 and 43. If you have the patience to go on counting, you discover that these pairs gradually become rarer. You encounter increasingly isolated primes, lost in that silent, measured space made only of ciphers, and you develop a distressing presentiment that the pairs encountered up until that point were accidental, that solitude is the true density. Then, just when youre about to surrender, when you no longer have the desire to go on counting, you come across another pair of twins, clutching each other tightly. There is a common conviction among mathematicians that however far you go, there will always be another two, even if no can say where exactly, until they are discovered. Twin primes. Alone and lost, close but not close enough to really touch each other.

Thoughts on humanity

I see the homeless on the corner by my office every day. They band together in the center median to lay on the grass, and hold signs made of withered cardboard to ask motorists for money. Today I gave a woman $5 I had on my dash, change from the extravagant tradition of getting a skinny vanilla latte every day, no doubt. A friend in the car gave me a lecture on why I shouldn’t “reinforce” their begging. “They’re just going to spend it on crack or alcohol. You’re not helping anything”. In fact I don’t always give out money directly to those in need, those on the street corners or outside the grocery store, those who approach me at the gas station asking for money to make it out of town. I don’t always have it.  Sometimes I’ll give them bottled water instead.  But I get the lecture from people all the time. And here’s the thing: I know I’m not helping them get out of poverty or rebuild their lives with $1, $5, even $100. It makes no difference in the grand scheme of their life or maybe even their day. I don’t think the money always spent on drugs, although I’m sure many times it is. And I’m really not in a position to judge anyone at any rate.

I just think it’s important to acknowledge their need. To reach out and show compassion by saying: “I see that you need help, it may be woefully inadequate, but in some small way I will help you because you are a human being and we are here to help each other.” I can’t imagine all the suffering that comes with living on the streets or being a prisoner of addiction, but I have to guess that being shunned by society and looked at with contempt by everyone around you makes life seem hopeless. I can’t imagine keeping faith in humanity as you sit on the side of the road in 102-degree weather as person after person walks past you, averting their eyes, not even acknowledging that you exist. I know it still isn’t much, but in some small way, by being willing to simply stop and look them in the eye and speak kindly and respectfully, I hope I can show those in need that there is compassion and generosity out there. People have good in them and all is not hopeless. There is created in those moments just the briefest human connection, but it’s all that really matters. I don’t help others nearly as much as I wish I did, but I have never regretted it when I have. It’s what we’re here for.

A little rain

Life can be heartbreaking in so many ways, and in subtle, sinister ways that never cross our worried minds until we’re blindsided by them. Pain is something to drink in and learn from, like any other experience in life. It’s something we avoid, and although we shouldn’t, it doesn’t matter, as the various cruelties of life will touch us all whether we like it or not.

Everyone will tell you that time heals all wounds and that your suffering won’t last. I believe this is the case sometimes. There are past hurts I’ve suffered that simply don’t matter anymore, due to maturity, changing values, or a calm acceptance full of understanding. I think of them and am grateful for the way they’ve shaped me and taught me compassion. And there are other broken hearts that have been beautifully redeemed in some way. An apology, reconciliation, a success after so many failed attempts, a changed heart, a second chance, even a miracle. These kinds of pain have been wiped clean in a sense by a change in the circumstances. I know I’m not alone in having been conditioned to believe that pain will go away in one of these ways, if enough time passes.

But there is some pain that never goes away. Regret that I don’t know what to do with, people that I never shared myself with, that I’ll never see again, connections that were lost, opportunities missed, people that don’t love me, can never love me the way I need to be loved, people who have hurt and used and betrayed me. I believe in second chances but I don’t always get them. I carry these things around with me hoping for redemption and bleeding just a little bit for the way things aren’t.

I am forever looking for something that will right the wrongs, that will be the dividing line between the way things are and the way I long for them to have turned out. I will probably look forever, but I have to accept that some hurts will just never go away.

And even in our sleep a pain that cannot forget
Falls drop by drop upon the heart,
And in our own despite, against our will,
Comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.

We tell ourselves so many stories about the things that happen to us, just to survive. Pretending not to feel the things we do to create emotional distance, to make the hurting stop. “He was horrible”, “it wouldn’t have worked out anyways”, “she had issues” and on and on. Sometimes there’s simply no justification. A situation just hurts. I find that although it doesn’t create any space from my pain, I go on wanting and hoping for that redemption. I move forward, I stand up to those who treat me poorly, I ask for forgiveness, as everyone has to, but my heart lingers. It refuses to fully acquiesce to hated or distance.  I still love and care for everyone and everything I’ve ever felt anything for, despite what they may have done to me or what pain they may have caused me. I cherish them in my heart as the people and things they were, or I thought they were before things changed. Like a child that still longs for love from an abusive parent, you can’t deny what’s in your heart, as illogical as it may be.

I don’t think that life and the undeniable pain in it can be explained away so that things don’t hurt. To try to do so isn’t authentic. Sometimes there is nothing else to do but just bleed and accept the wounds for what they are. It’s truth, and there really is nothing else.

 

……life had taught me undeniably that surrender, in its place, was as honorable as resistance, especially if one had no choice…….

On love

I remember the first time I knew I had found something utterly irreplaceable. We had only been dating for 4 months.  I was in the ICU with a life-threatening condition and he came by everyday after work to sit with me and run his fingers through my hair. He told me I was beautiful, with all the horrible tubes in my arms and the dark circles under my eyes. He stayed until I fell asleep. Everyday.

I used to see him looking at me when I was doing ordinary things. Looking at me with nothing but love in his eyes. Like I was the only person on earth. He would kiss me in the middle of a crowded bar and hug me to his chest. He would drive to the store to get me ice cream when I was sick and watch me fall asleep.

A complete stranger came up to me once to remind me of how lucky I was. Her boyfriend knew him, and she sought me out at a party to tell me that her boyfriend said he talked about me all the time. She said they were moved by how much he seemed to cherish me. How much love was in his heart for me. A complete stranger wanted to tell me this.

The bows of the warriors are broken, but those who stumbled are armed with strength

I somehow believe that wandering in the darkness is the right thing in my life at this particular point in time. I am learning that life has to break its people so that they might have a new kind of strength. The kind that isn’t easy, but rather the strength in spirit that is born only through brokenness. I am thankful that I’m finding the grace to the humble. But also, for something else.

I’m thankful for the chance to become the Phoenix.  In the stories, when it saw the end coming, the Phoenix would destroy itself in a fire created from its nest, only to be reborn from the ashes of its destruction. I have the ability to totally destroy myself, the one that I know, and rise reborn from the ashes. The only question is, “what is it I wish to create?” A life that’s as filled with life as I can possibly comprehend.

Simone de Beauvoir said:  “I tore myself away from the safe comfort of certainties through my love for the truth; and the truth rewarded me.”I know that we learn to respond to life in a way that allows us to be acceptable to, and survive in, the world in which we find ourselves at the expense of our own truth. I may have gone an entire lifetime of denying my truth if not for the kind of pain that galvanized me to live from another place.

We need to journey into the underworld and the unknown to find our true identity. The question is for all of us, "How deep are we willing to we go?" It means total or partial emptying of oneself, a simultaneous spiraling "down" while paradoxically spiraling "up", to explore the depth and breadth of our pain, taking ourselves apart piece by piece.

Because I know that the higher calling, duty even, for everyone is to give. And you can only give to the level you have gone.

I am learning to become a light unto myself.

My wild is calling

Make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things which you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservation, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life, you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter-skelter style of life that will at first appear to you to be crazy. But once you become accustomed to such a life you will see its full meaning and its incredible beauty.