In a writing group I participate in, we were prompted with the following: “I go blank every time I...” I would like to share my response of then and some further ruminations of now.
“I go blank every time I see a headline like the one of last week; ‘Gifford shot in head, six dead, nineteen wounded,’ and that moment of incomprehension, in contrast to the event itself, is a testimony to some unarticulated belief in the goodness of people and appreciation in the celebration of life and love.”
I come back, over and over again to that moment when the props fall, the lights are turned on, nothing adorns and all is naked. It is a moment of truth, stripped of justifications, moral judgments, emotional persuasions, and intellectual dissection. Even a glimpse is precious, even if it is painful or bewildering.
“In that blank moment there’s a small gateway to a long, narrow tunnel through the sarcasm, anger, disillusionment, and sadness of my psyche. I am touched, and then it is gone, sealed once more with all those layers I hide behind...”
There are questions that drive my inner life, great questions, great being defined by as having no definitive answers. Some have fallen to the wayside, having lost relevance in the passing of time, but this one looms large like a seamless, smooth, steep iron mountain, impenetrable and without handholds or footholds Simply, how does one keep a tender heart amidst the challenges, the pain, the violence, and the suffering of the human world? How can we keep coming back with an open heart and arms, year after year? It is a spiritual question and quest for me, and that momentary rent of my persona is just enough to show me the path. It is like a lightening flash on the darkest of nights in a forest. Oh yes, over there...
“...all those layers of truths, of commonsense and acceptance, all adding up to what amounts to a surrender to the obvious.”
Courage, I am told, is not being fearless, but of being fearful and moving forward nonetheless. I am old enough now to know, with my heart as well as my head that I am mortal and the bigger chunk of my life has already been lived. Friends have died; too many of them were younger than I am now. Will I embrace the voices I hear or not? Will I fulfill my path and honor that which deeply yearns for expression? Yes or no? What is there to lose by hiding? Or to gain by crawling out of those moments that tear holes in my armor? It is hard. I appreciate the help of my friends. We need to help each other.
“But I don’t really give up. I pretend, and at that, not very well.”
Thank you for listening to me. May those hurt one way or another that day heal and go with peace.
