At the very end of the movie, "It's a Wonderful Life," Clarence leaves a book for George Bailey in the basket of music. (I believe it is a copy of Huckleberry Finn. ) and George dedicated the book to George: "Remember no man is a failure who has friends."
I just deleted an hour's writing.
In this Lenten journey, I have gone back and re-read many of my posts since this all started about two years ago. I find myself incredibly boring, yet I understand my purpose for writing. It has little to do with me...the writing here, but I pray that it might be a catalyst for getting others to write their stories...perhaps not in a blog, but for themselves, to look into themselves and see who might be there.
I am going through so much, here in this desert. I am beginning to realize why I write, the themes that dominate my life, and that there are more reasonable alternatives in how to live. I am realizing more why I write about "nearly a nun" and "never a priest," fighting inside always between never being good enough and being completely frustrated with the human race. That perfection stuff really has to go. The illusion that "if I could just get it right, the world, my world, would be better" needs to be buried for good.
I am paying attention to how much I was ignored as a child, dismissed, used...how unimportant I felt and how alone...how, if I was to survive in this world, I would have to do it all by myself. And now, how very much I don't want any child, any person to feel that way.
I look at the proliferation of posts by others. Most of them are just 'reposting' something they found elsewhere and not an original thought or feeling among them, yet these are the things most people are attracted to. I think Edwin Friedman is correct: We are addicted to 'information' and to 'experts.' We 911 and 411 each other to death, but very few people speak to what lies in their hearts.
When I get on Facebook, I don't look for the latest link to the latest thing I need to get upset about, or support, or whatever...I look for the posts like "I'm hungry." "I just had dinner with my best friend." or "where is that yellow sock?" These are the remarks of people. I love photos of trees and sunsets and old cars and children laughing. I love peering into the humanity of someone else. The rest, God bless us all, reminds me of debate in high school: My quote will out-trump your quote. And I remember my high school friend, David Burton, when being handed a 3X5 notecard as he challenged someone else's argument and saying aloud to the judge: "hmmm...ink still wet."
This from a man who, when I was about to sneeze, and while I was holding a mountain of books in my lap, put his hand over my mouth to catch my...snot. I cannot remember a more humbling, yet practical experience from a guy in a suit who was not my boyfriend nor my brother.
We can always find some expert to speak for us. Someone on our side. Someone important that agrees...but I get the impression that no one really wants to tell anyone who they really are, what they are feeling, what they need...and what they want to give. And that makes me a bit sad. We really do lead lives of quiet desperation.
That said, I celebrate friends. People who love you enough to hold your hair back while you are throwing up in a restaurant toilet because you forgot the medication you were taking didn't mix with alcohol...the one who sits and listens to how excited you are because you started dating again the guy who broke your heart last year and never brings it up to you. The one who lets you sleep on your sofa because you are too afraid to go home and listen to your parents tell you one more time you are not living up to your potential. The friend who seems to know exactly what you need...and gives it to you and you think, "Oh my heavens, were you actually listening to me." The friend who talked you out of an affair because your marriage was feeling miserable that day, or believes in you when you decide to return to college or run for office...and stays the whole night with you when you lose.
I look for the subtle, and not so subtle acts of love on Facebook. And I celebrate that the cynicism of the world has not yet destroyed us all...try as it might to kill off humanity. We are survivors. We are heroes. We are saints.
The world tries to kill us everyday with all of its unceasing and unmerciful expectations. I suppose I am moving out of my anger that the world does not love as it should...and into the reality that "it just is what it is." That doesn't mean putting up with 'man's inhumanity to man,' but rather not letting myself drown in its debris.
I looked up at the sky last night...it was a beautiful night...and I sang to God my silly songs, off key, but with passion and I asked Him...who will I be if I let go of my anger? Is there anything left inside? Who will I be if I stop fighting the whole world? What spark is there that knows how to live without a fight, without a cause, without an impossible dream? Who will I be if I give it up? White bread? A submissive boring woman? A rebel without a cause? Will I succumb to letting a man back into my life...and 'live for him?' (ah, the anger is not gone yet, is it?) What will not being angry look like? Does it have a face?
I look up at the night sky. Orion's Belt. Sirius. Betelgeuse. Rigel. The Pleiades and the Hyades. Studying these last two star clusters has determined that the escape velocity of the universe is greater than the gravitational pull of the objects within it. (I think that is correct) What I mean is that the universe is expanding and will never contract again. I think Hubble is responsible for that information. We getting farther and farther apart...this universe will never again to return to that "Let there be light" stage again. We only have now...and the need to love now should never leave our minds. We get this one chance to be good to each other...or we can kill each other. Now is all we have.
I'm thinking, it's time to let go of what the world didn't give me and hold on to what it has given me.
Well, duh.
Love, Cindy
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