Thursday, January 8, 2009
Falling or "What color is your parachute?"
Falling through grey misty emptiness. Let go. Relax your grip as all slips and slides away from view. All is folded in on itself. All slips away. Sex. relationship. Future. Marriage. Happiness. Pleasure. Relax. Let go. Hold on to nothing. Let yourself fall. You take only one thing with you. You hold on to that splintered cross. There is nothing else coming with you. Just you and a piece of wood and a prayer. All is yours. I would sooner die than have other gods before. you. and death it may well be for now. accept the plummeting down. Accept it and do not reach out to grab onto any of the handholds rushing past. And they would stop the fall. But fall I must. Fall and die. No parachute. Just a bloody piece of wood in the falling darkness. No wind. No destination.No contingency. No reserve. Let every muscle in my body relax as I settle in for the long fall. Even what I know of God and Christ must be abandoned, all but that cross. The old conceptions are too wrapped up in pleasure and happiness. Let all fall away. Let me fall. Scorn the fairy tale idol as it beckons, with such convincing promises of security and relief from the fall, from the emptiness. Damn you satan, I spit on your glistening fairy tale sugar palace. Without another glance I tighten my grip on that wooden cross I hug to my chest and turn my body in the air to face what comes. I close my eyes and pray. Not for the fall to stop. Not for a renewal of old idols, old places where I perched and built nests, sure and stable, but rather I simply pray. God, Jesus, Holy Spirit. Help me to hold on to this ridiculous piece of wood forever.
A letter to my sis:
I also really cherish our talk. It was good for me too. The kind of healing that comes from understanding is much slower than other kinds, and it's also an up and down, long haul kind of a deal. I had therapy today, and it was good. he asked me to go home and journal about a positive experience of dad and a negative one, and it horrified me to realize that I was hard pressed to think of a positive one. But there were some, and they were really great!
I've been thinking right up your alley (if that makes any sense); wondering if life is just a series of distracting onesself from the emptiness... and every once in a while I'm afraid of that. But with a greater part of me, I think that we must be filled, and that's not bad. Life is a process of creation, and every day, we get to help create who we ARE! And a significant contribution to that process of creation, of shaping and sculpting who we are is made by our little decisions througout the day: what will we wear, where will we go, what will we do, with whom will we do it, what will we believe about the universe, about ourselves, God, etc. When I look at the geometry of a naked tree stand out against the snow and my heart is moved to wonder and worship, I can't think that is simply a distraction. it is a filling up. And that's not denial, or superficial, but rather, an act of creation. I am creating and being created in allowing myself to look at the tree and experience awe. I don't know if that makes ANY sense.
Please, don't ever give up. Never ever give up. That doesn't mean don't get real sad or angry. But never give up. I listened to some of "The Secret" on the way up to Mn, and while it's a lot of bullshit, it's also got a lot of wisdom to it. We rob ourselves of our power to create a life of joy and beauty every day. But also, the world is messed up and we can't always control our emotions, and we shouldn't always. And sometimes, really crappy things actually happen (that includes experiencing biochemical imbalances in the brain that cause depression, and feeling like a loser because your dad had a loser complex and didn't give you and affection). But we are an INCREDIBLE SPECIES! And while the world may be brutal, our minds and wills are more brutal yet (brutally sharp), and capable of overcoming incredible odds. We are made in the divine image. There is something holy and alive at the center of you, crying out for dance and music and company and wonder and freedom. Feed that thing and get to know it.
And please, keep me updated, both of y'all. I love you so much! I din't get a damn thing done today, but I got the best massage of my LIFE by a 4 foot 9 Romanian woman who put all her weight on my back through her elbow and lectured me about communism, church history, and the etymology of the word "machismo." It hurt so bad, but her literally non-stop 60 minute tirade reallly distracted from the pain. And I experienced wonder and pain simultaneausly. She was 60 and called me "Dahhling" with the heaviest eastern european accent you can imagine, and kept telling me I was "in trouble" and had a gold tooth (and a couple missing) and bared my buttcheeks and said "and now, I shall spank you." And she did. And she made me give her a hug once I was all dressed and sent me on my way feeling about 1000% better than I did when I came in. And it was 45 bucks for an hour cus the U subsidizes it. God bless socialism!!!
LOVE YOU, me
I've been thinking right up your alley (if that makes any sense); wondering if life is just a series of distracting onesself from the emptiness... and every once in a while I'm afraid of that. But with a greater part of me, I think that we must be filled, and that's not bad. Life is a process of creation, and every day, we get to help create who we ARE! And a significant contribution to that process of creation, of shaping and sculpting who we are is made by our little decisions througout the day: what will we wear, where will we go, what will we do, with whom will we do it, what will we believe about the universe, about ourselves, God, etc. When I look at the geometry of a naked tree stand out against the snow and my heart is moved to wonder and worship, I can't think that is simply a distraction. it is a filling up. And that's not denial, or superficial, but rather, an act of creation. I am creating and being created in allowing myself to look at the tree and experience awe. I don't know if that makes ANY sense.
Please, don't ever give up. Never ever give up. That doesn't mean don't get real sad or angry. But never give up. I listened to some of "The Secret" on the way up to Mn, and while it's a lot of bullshit, it's also got a lot of wisdom to it. We rob ourselves of our power to create a life of joy and beauty every day. But also, the world is messed up and we can't always control our emotions, and we shouldn't always. And sometimes, really crappy things actually happen (that includes experiencing biochemical imbalances in the brain that cause depression, and feeling like a loser because your dad had a loser complex and didn't give you and affection). But we are an INCREDIBLE SPECIES! And while the world may be brutal, our minds and wills are more brutal yet (brutally sharp), and capable of overcoming incredible odds. We are made in the divine image. There is something holy and alive at the center of you, crying out for dance and music and company and wonder and freedom. Feed that thing and get to know it.
And please, keep me updated, both of y'all. I love you so much! I din't get a damn thing done today, but I got the best massage of my LIFE by a 4 foot 9 Romanian woman who put all her weight on my back through her elbow and lectured me about communism, church history, and the etymology of the word "machismo." It hurt so bad, but her literally non-stop 60 minute tirade reallly distracted from the pain. And I experienced wonder and pain simultaneausly. She was 60 and called me "Dahhling" with the heaviest eastern european accent you can imagine, and kept telling me I was "in trouble" and had a gold tooth (and a couple missing) and bared my buttcheeks and said "and now, I shall spank you." And she did. And she made me give her a hug once I was all dressed and sent me on my way feeling about 1000% better than I did when I came in. And it was 45 bucks for an hour cus the U subsidizes it. God bless socialism!!!
LOVE YOU, me
Feel sorry for yourself
1-8-08
Negative:
I was drunk, and I knocked over a vase in the dining room. It shattered. I got a broom to sweep it up, but I was having difficulty standing, and I was weaving all over the place. Dad walked in just in time to see me nearly lose my balance and stagger to catch my footing. I stood there weaving, knowing I was caught, and I think I had a grin on my face. Dad looked so shamed and angry and disappointed, like there wasn't an ounce of laughter in him, like it was the darkest day in history and all his deepest fears had come true.
"Where'd you get the booze?" was all i remember him saying. Well, that and the expression on his face and the dark tone in his voice. It crushed me, and made me feel lonely and rejected.
Positive:
Dad was coming home, and I heard him coming in the door, and ran to the door, yelling with joy, "DADDYYYYYY!" just in time for him to open the door and reach down and catch me in his arms. That's about all. I don't remember if he caught me in his arms and looked me in the eye and told me he loved me, or that he was proud of me
Well boo freakin hoo. Get over it. Forgive him, get over yourself and get on with life. That's what my heart is saying. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
My head feels fuzzy and I feel tired and hazy and drowsy and lazy.
Jesus, I forgive you for allowing to happen what you allowed to happen. I forgive myself for feeling sorry for myself. I feel sorry for myself.
WHY THE HELL SHOULDN'T ANYONE FEEL SORRY FOR THEMSELVES? That's one of those things people say that I've always taken for granted: that one shouldn't feel sorry for ones' self. But I feel sorry for others, in a compassionate way. Why should I not feel the same for myself? I'm not talking about that sort of wallowing hopeless despairing kind of feeling sorry, but rather the "You shouldn't have had to go through that. I am so sorry, and my heart breaks because of it" sort of a sorrow. This kind of self pity allows one to move on, so long as hope and love and forgiveness are at the bottom of the bucket.
Jesus, give me this sort of sorrow. Give me Godly self pity. Surely, you wept for yourself in the garden? Did you? Didn't you cry out to your father? Didn't you cry out to your friends? And left all alone, didn't you weep just for your loneliness?
Yet you still forgave and made the decision to move out of the sorrow into victory. Sorrow and pity are not at the heart of our humanity, or even our intimacy. For in the end, all sorrow and pity and tears will truly be no more. We know it in the deepest murkiest depths of our being. And perhaps it's this knowledge that tears and sorrow and darkness and pain are truly fleeting that makes us want to hold on to them, because they are at least familiar. Darkness and pain and sorrow do not grow and mature. They fester and remain unchanged, like the thick dirty still black air at the bottom of the deepest cave. We can wrap ourselves in a blanket of sorrow and it need never be changed. in this blanket, we will always have something familiar, something we know that we can touch when all else is strange and changing and confusing and unsure.
But until we can truly feel sorry for oursselves, the way our savior does, how can we continue to grow close to Him? If we will not accept his ache over out wounds and trauma, how can we accept his healing?
Jesus, let me feel your ache, in your time, in your place, in the manner of your choosing.
But only say the word and I shall be healed.
Negative:
I was drunk, and I knocked over a vase in the dining room. It shattered. I got a broom to sweep it up, but I was having difficulty standing, and I was weaving all over the place. Dad walked in just in time to see me nearly lose my balance and stagger to catch my footing. I stood there weaving, knowing I was caught, and I think I had a grin on my face. Dad looked so shamed and angry and disappointed, like there wasn't an ounce of laughter in him, like it was the darkest day in history and all his deepest fears had come true.
"Where'd you get the booze?" was all i remember him saying. Well, that and the expression on his face and the dark tone in his voice. It crushed me, and made me feel lonely and rejected.
Positive:
Dad was coming home, and I heard him coming in the door, and ran to the door, yelling with joy, "DADDYYYYYY!" just in time for him to open the door and reach down and catch me in his arms. That's about all. I don't remember if he caught me in his arms and looked me in the eye and told me he loved me, or that he was proud of me
Well boo freakin hoo. Get over it. Forgive him, get over yourself and get on with life. That's what my heart is saying. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
My head feels fuzzy and I feel tired and hazy and drowsy and lazy.
Jesus, I forgive you for allowing to happen what you allowed to happen. I forgive myself for feeling sorry for myself. I feel sorry for myself.
WHY THE HELL SHOULDN'T ANYONE FEEL SORRY FOR THEMSELVES? That's one of those things people say that I've always taken for granted: that one shouldn't feel sorry for ones' self. But I feel sorry for others, in a compassionate way. Why should I not feel the same for myself? I'm not talking about that sort of wallowing hopeless despairing kind of feeling sorry, but rather the "You shouldn't have had to go through that. I am so sorry, and my heart breaks because of it" sort of a sorrow. This kind of self pity allows one to move on, so long as hope and love and forgiveness are at the bottom of the bucket.
Jesus, give me this sort of sorrow. Give me Godly self pity. Surely, you wept for yourself in the garden? Did you? Didn't you cry out to your father? Didn't you cry out to your friends? And left all alone, didn't you weep just for your loneliness?
Yet you still forgave and made the decision to move out of the sorrow into victory. Sorrow and pity are not at the heart of our humanity, or even our intimacy. For in the end, all sorrow and pity and tears will truly be no more. We know it in the deepest murkiest depths of our being. And perhaps it's this knowledge that tears and sorrow and darkness and pain are truly fleeting that makes us want to hold on to them, because they are at least familiar. Darkness and pain and sorrow do not grow and mature. They fester and remain unchanged, like the thick dirty still black air at the bottom of the deepest cave. We can wrap ourselves in a blanket of sorrow and it need never be changed. in this blanket, we will always have something familiar, something we know that we can touch when all else is strange and changing and confusing and unsure.
But until we can truly feel sorry for oursselves, the way our savior does, how can we continue to grow close to Him? If we will not accept his ache over out wounds and trauma, how can we accept his healing?
Jesus, let me feel your ache, in your time, in your place, in the manner of your choosing.
But only say the word and I shall be healed.
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