I Know Your Secret

I think I’m too lonely and exhausted to write.  But… lemme at least write a “pilot” paragraph just to see if it gets my engine lubed.  Look, I won’t beat around the psycho-active bush here… I am just wondering how it is possible that I have been hearing God speak to me from so many lips and wink at me from behind the façade of so many unsuspecting, ordinary moments… and yet I still feel to be starving.  HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?  If I had to guess, I’d say it’s just a mental-emotional habit.

Last night Mykael invited me out to a gallery opening and then to hear his friendly acquaintance play music at a local tavern… A beer garden, if you will.  (I love that term, “beer garden”.  In my minds eye, I always see thick, twisty, shiny, fairyland foliage sprouting an ostentatious collection of decorative, microbrewery beer bottles lieu of flowers.  Ornate wrought iron tables nestle amidst the plant life and you simply pluck the beer of your choice straight from the vine and settle with good company and a waxing gruff attitude.)  Where was I?  Oh yes, I declined his invite, though it warmed me to be included.  (Our “way parting” (the new pc term for “break-up”) is going really well this week!  The love, kindness, respect and cooperation are everything I hoped for, but thought might be too good to be true.)  I felt so quiet inside yesterday.  And sensitive.  And I couldn’t imagine wandering into the abrasive outside world.  It was as if I had no skin on.  So he left right after dinner and my aloneness immediately surged in, laden with a tangible heft.  Oh well.  I blogged and then crashed out.  Big deal.  But then I heard the porch light click off and was startled from a sweaty, fitful sleep at a quarter till three am.

Hearing my partner come home late at night while I am nestled alone in my bed… is a trigger for me.  I guess because as a child sometimes my babysitters would leave before my mom got home and I spent time awake in bed marinating in the suffocating sensation of aloneness… Shrug.  I forgive, I forgive, I forgive.  Yes, it sucked… but BFD, so what?  Forgive I may, but the triggers remain… and when Mykael came home, I was not thirty years old, I was seven.  (Hey look!  I made it past the first paragraph!  I guess my engine is officially lubed.)  So there I was, suddenly wide awake, adrenaline coursing through my veins.  I prayed to God, as I am remembering to do more and more these days when I encounter moments laced with seemingly insurmountable bouquets of threatening feelings and or thoughts.

Time out!  I just have to say that I have been getting so many acknowledgements lately about the beauty and grace others behold in me.  (Souldipper, I just read your comment and it tipped me over the edge, into a soft splash of tears.)  What a mystery… Must beauty and ache be so interwoven?  From the inside, I feel like I am working overtime trying to hold myself together, stay poised, clear, strong, spiritually elevated… I feel a quiet, steady pulsing of strength and despair.  Amazing how from the outside, this experience occurs as “beauty”.  This is me falling to my knees and BEGGING God for mercy.  God!  Please bust these chains from my mind.  Free me from my need to control and understand.  May I have the courage to be empty, to be nothing, to simply be breathing peace.  God?  Do you hear me???

Time in… So I prayed to God.  Yet from the shackles of my perception, I remained alone, in the dark, in my bed.  This is the closest to Holiness that I can muster at this time.  It’s just such an impressive paradox… to know that human love belly flops in pools of hot lava and hissing acid compared to Divine Love.  I know this.  Without a shred of doubt.  And yet I have misplaced the door, or the key, or the… Yes, we’ve discussed this one before.  Rumi told me that I will soon find that I have been knocking from the INSIDE.  Great, thanks Rumi.  Now pardon me while take my bloody knuckles and get back to work a-knockin’.

Here I am.  Here I am.  My bedroom is being slowly swallowed by twilight, my screen glows bright and the house is flooded with silence.  Here I am.  Beautiful me.  My heart cries out for its implicit bliss.  As if it could ever be found beyond this oppressively precious Now moment.

When I woke up this morning, I tried to shift gears, burn through the emotions still lingering from 3am.  I almost could.  Almost.  I kept trying to stand up and report for duty on the front lines (it was farmer’s market day), but the oppressive gray sky kept knocking me back on my ass.  My soul weighted as much as an elephant who accidentally swallowed a sassy chain of spiral galaxies.  So I resorted to waking my hung-over soon to be ex-boyfriend up and falling apart in sobs.  He held me.  I thought, how can I possibly show up at the farmer’s market to sell poems when my eyes are puffy and my confidence took flight in the night?  Who will want a poem from one who is such a flailing pile of fear and loneliness?

But a steady, quiet voice in me whispered that I am just like you.  I believe that it is ONLY God’s Love for which we all ceaselessly thirst.  We just wrap it in a myriad of fancy packages.  We think we want a partner, a new car, a sweet vacation, a better job, a pedicure, a bouquet of flowers, an inspired rendezvous with a friend, even.  But any desire we dangle out in front of ourselves and then exhaust ourselves chasing after… is only the pursuit of… Yep, you guessed it, the All Pervading Love-gasm.  So I got dressed (mostly in black, because I am dying to everything I once dreamed I was) and marched my typewriter down the hill to report for duty, carrying in my breast pocket the most tender and universal secret~ Everyone aches, consciously or not, to be reunited once and for all with our Eternal Beloved.

Amen.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Amy MacLeod
    Aug 22, 2010 @ 17:24:16

    And so wise.

    Reply

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