If you know me at all, I'm certain you are fully aware of my clumsiness. Generally I try to embrace it and hope that it maybe adds to my charm, but in the end it just results in a number of bruises, scratches, broken furniture, you name it.
But now I sit here clumsily fumbling through my own thoughts which are broken, sort of piece-meal really. I'm trying to find the words to say what I think and eloquently fill the page with lovely notions laced together with carefully chosen words that have a soft and peaceful cadence. I'm afraid though that this, in the end will simply result in a jumbled up mess...a lot like my closet.
Regardless, here goes...

I will quite readily admit I am prideful, horribly impatient, insensitive, unintentionally harsh, sometimes lacking compassion, and somewhat assuming. To any of you people who are kind enough to tell me otherwise, it's okay. Really. I don't mind the truth. I'd rather not be naive about it.

In the past, I was able to recognize those issues. I just didn't care. I was mad as hell at the whole world, and about as defensive as I could possibly be. Lately though, in the past year or so, I have come to a place where I see those flaws for what they are...defense mechanisms tied to a dark past, strongholds to what once was, and learned traits rather than something indicative of who I am innately. I have been trying to figure out a way to unlearn these things instead of holding onto them as though they are my safety net. I desire to be kind, slow to anger or irritation, compassionate, loving, peaceful, and helpful. I think the old me exhibits some entirely unattractive attributes that aren't characteristic of the way the real me wants to treat others.

The answer to this I think is love-real honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned, love. Not the silly sort where your heart flutters because the cute guy says hi to you. Not eros love. Not phileo either. I mean agape...that beautiful, all-encompassing, never ending, unconditional, I don't care if you curse, if you sleep with your boyfriend that's fine, I'll hold your hair back when you puke from drinking too much, you had an affair kind of love. The real deal. The one where no matter what people will stand by you, tell you that you screwed up, and they'll help you work it out. That's the sort that will heal the wounds. I don't need someone to tell me I'm pretty or smart or even interesting. Flattery is meaningless. The people I need are the ones who aren't afraid to be honest with me, who aren't trying to win an argument, but who will sit with me and talk and sort it out for hours if that's what it takes.

We all know Michelle died recently. As heartbreaking as that is, I have found this incredible, mind-blowing beauty in her death. The legacy she leaves is amazing. That girl truly is the tie that binds all of these different people together, and through her passing, they have all come together to love each other. And somehow, I have managed to find myself right in middle of it. Luck? Nah. Privilege? Absolutely. I am blown away by these phenomenal people who welcome me into their lives, who reach out to me to love me as I am, and who embrace me just because and expect nothing in return. Thank you to each of you. I have much to learn, and thank you for showing me the real Jesus...not the one I've learned over the past few years.

Freedom

in the past few days, weeks maybe, i've had the privilege of speaking with some very kind, patient, and loving people. to be honest, i have been overwhelmed by their kindness and patience, and i have truly had to swallow a fair amount of pride. i'm okay with that part. i don't mind being wrong, in fact i rather welcome it. if i'm always right i don't learn anything anyway.

so as i've been going to church again as of late, the whole experience has really required me to swallow quite a bit of my pride...which, as the old tale goes, humble pie isn't particularly delicious. however, as i've put myself out in this uncomfortable situation, i've found that i am welcomed with open arms by a group of people who patiently cover me in love regardless of the thoughts and questions swirling about in my head. they have no concern as to whether or not i believe the right or wrong theology. they aren't interested in what i may or may not have done. their sole interest lies in loving me just as i am. all of this has derived out of the death of my beloved friend. to think that this, the legacy she has left, is that she is the tie that binds all of these unique and beautiful people together astounds me. i then wonder, what will my legacy be? i've said before that i hope it's that i love people well. this experience has encouraged me to work harder to ensure that is exactly what i do.

and then...then i was told that despite all of the events, recent or in the distant past, this life isn't about getting it right. the longer i sit with that notion, the more peace i find in it. thank you for telling me that friend and sharing your honest thoughts with me. in that there is a great freedom that before seemed so far out of my grasp. i fought so hard to be perfect and thought these questions were so wrong...and you just gave me the ability to be free and unashamed of my doubts and concerns. what a beautiful thing and what a blessing.

I've been to church now a total of 4 times in the last 2 years...maybe 3 years. I can't remember honestly. But I've been going because of my sweet friend Michelle and the ordeal that took place in the last days of her life. I have been struck by the beautiful image of all of these people coming together to support one another in such a dark time of angst and turmoil. I have been humbled to be a small part of this. Truly, it is an honor.

In my own heart and mind though, I have the most difficult time sorting out all this mess. Not just because Michelle died, but because I can't sort out the theology that all these other people turn to for comfort. For me, the theology is maybe the most discomforting part of it all.

I cannot grasp how people cling so dearly to words that may be little more than stories or myths. I unable to fathom how people turn to a God who is supposed to be loving and just and react to him in praise when we have lost a close friend. My heart is troubled by all of my uncertainties, and to be fair, a certain amount of those uncertainties are surely derived out of my own pride. Perhaps I simply do not want to believe because I think it's naive and maybe even foolish. I just can't put too much faith in a book compiled by a bunch of men hundreds of years ago. I can't justify why the canon is accepted and the apocrypha is not. I cannot see how this religion that is, honestly full of ludicrous tales, makes any more sense than say Mormonism with John Smith and his silly rocks. How can you praise a God who never teaches you how to deal with pain? I don't know either. And it seems no one has answers to my seemingly endless questions. Some people seem to tremble because of my doubt as though it's blasphemous, but I think they're just afraid to admit they've had the same thoughts before.

Thomas doubted, and he received proof to answer his questions. But was that just another fable? Something to use as a teaching method really? How can you tell the difference? Very little in the Bible can be corroborated by other historical accounts. So when do you know if these stories are just stories? Or are these outlandish tales things that actually occurred? I suppose the Tootsie Roll owl is right...the world may never know.

sleep has eluded me as of late. i'm not the least bit happy about it either. that makes the light of day even more unbearable.
the tick, tick, ticking of the clock as minutes turn into hours of restless sleeplessness. the hum of the air conditioning that just never stops. slowly the thick black of the sky fades into grey morning haze that burns off with the unseasonable warmth of the sun. and all the while i lay here. waiting. waiting for my dreams to carry me off and away to some sleepy, neverland that exists only behind the curtain of night.
but no. no dreams for me tonight or maybe ever. i wonder if at least a wave of sleep will wash over me as here i lay.
is it the angels that torment me in my bed with pushing and prodding throughout the night? Surely it isn't the demons that dance inside my head, for we are old friends with a past sordid though it may be. they are the ones who have been with me always. it cannot be them who banish sleep from my bed.
whatever it is, i hope to fight it off this night. as i lay here yearning for that sweet respite from the world. come, come to me sweet sleep. lay here with me and hold me tight so that i may pass from this pace of life into a deep, long slumber

We are the dreamers of the dreams...

I remember that line from long ago when I was a little girl. Gene Wilder says it in Willie Wonka, or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory...whatever it's called. At any rate, the quote is something along the lines of "We are the music makers and the dreamers of the dreams..." I love that notion, but then I wonder what might happen if we dared to speak of those dreams instead of tucking them away in the bastions of our souls. What may happen if those dreams were allowed the freedom to take flight?
I know in my own life it's hard to say, as I rarely remember dreaming, much less are my dreams clear enough to recall. I don't remember the last time I set about establishing any dreams or goals, conventional or otherwise. Or maybe wanting to get paid to paint and write is a dream. Perhaps. But I think in my head those notions seem so unrealistic I hesitate to even think upon them. Of course, that may be the beauty of a dream in the first place.
So I wonder, what is it that others dream? Is it the unrealistic nature of a dream that makes it so beautiful to begin with? And is it the cynic inside me that holds my dreams at bay? If that is the case, how to break that trend? How does one defeat a seemingly undying cynicism that is bedded deeply inside the most far reaching bulwarks of his or her heart? Is there a solution? A cure?
I imagine if there is, it is a simple one...love

I am truly disappointed when the dark of night is rudely interrupted by the break of day streaming across my windows. In fact I long to stay enshrouded in that cool, dark, velvet wrap of endless stars and black wonder. It is in this space, where I, in my solitude, am at the same time surrounded by countless angels...my thoughts that meander throughout the deepest caverns of my mind. It is strange perhaps how in this seemingly desolate place, I am simultaneously the most and the least lonely imaginable. My thoughts and questions ceaseless as the ocean tide, washing away the sand from the endless shores. To and fro, the angels in my head rock me back and forth, rarely idling long enough for sleep to take hold and whisk me away. Even in my dreams innumerable queries and ideations seem to envelope every bit of my being. Down, down, deeper and deeper, into the rabbit hole I go. No Alice to follow, and no Cheshire Cat to welcome me with a grin. But it's my own wonderland into which I delve, into which I find peace amongst the wild things and creations that lie therein. There I am truly at home, in the safety of my own inner sanctum where no one can take away my freedom of thought or exploration.

For these reasons I long for the thick cozy haze of dense cloudy days. I often despise the sun and it's cheer as I long for the comfort of my deepest thoughts...that seem to be run off by the sun's garish glare. I seek to cloak myself in the soft, warm veil of my own demons. I know them for they are my own darkest secrets and desires. I know where they will go, and if I so desire, I just may follow. Otherwise, I pine away for the days that seem to be endless nights; the crisp, cool air of a black, black winter's eve; the warmth over my whole body as the scotch fills my veins and at last I am alone with my music, art, and thoughts.

I sit here with a heavy weighted heart...my friend has died, and as someone who is terribly unemotional, I have very little inclination of how to deal with it all...not to mention the everyday stress of life and work and other relationships. I can't quite fathom how to actually address this situation as in the past, I have simply set aside my emotions in some far away dark recess of my mind where I could bury them and hide them away from the light of day. As I've grown older though, I've come to realize the importance of allowing those emotions to have their own time and space. I'm simply not quite sure how to do that.
In turn, I ask you friends, how does one allow for emotions to take their toll when one isn't so acclimated to emotions at all? I am sad beneath the smiling face and cheerful personality. I am heartbroken for my friend and her family. I am angry with little consolation to be found in the novel idea that perhaps my friend is resting in a heaven that I'm not sure I believe in. Tell me please, how might this transpire? For someone who scores on an emotional IQ test the equivalent of one who has Aspergers, how do you sort this out? What does this look like in everyday life, for people who know how to feel and to empathize?
On top of it, to bear the weight of having to keep steady the hand of one who is essentially my boss but is perhaps not in the right position, maintain an incredibly busy work flow, and still be a good friend to those who need me...I'm simply not sure how this all will work out. I am quite alone, and truly I wish there were someone to guide me and lead my hand in the right direction...to simply take charge for a while. Since that is certainly not the case though, what is a girl to do? Where is she to turn? And whom might she seek for help? A god whom she isn't certain is actually there? Or a friend who may or may not return a message? To that end, might she truly be alone?