I saw a t-shirt yesterday. It said, "If you aren't praying for peace, what are you praying for?" And that brought a thought about in my mind.
Well, I'm praying for turmoil, of course.
Wrong. No. We pray for peace. Peace of mind, peace of finances, peace of spirit, peace of nations, peace of Jerusalem...we don't pray for turmoil. That's ridiculous. Fire, perhaps. Perhaps we pray for fire. To go through the refiners crucible and come out the other side, not unscathed, but refined. But not turmoil. That's off the mark.
Life is personal. It is. People try to de-humanize it, to make everything on the same level. To make it all straight and all "normal" and all "functional." Life isn't that way. It is personal. Why should we try to be anything but people? That's what we are. That's how God made us. As people. Yes, we've lost some things along the way, but we were always--people. Life is personal. If life isn't personal, what the hell is it? Nothing. It is nothing. Because life, as we know it, inherently has to do with people. If you take away the people, you are left with nothing.
If you aren't praying for peace, what are you praying for? If life isn't personal, what is it?
February 21, 2008
maybe i don't make myself clear
I never talk about you, personally. Any of you. I talk to myself. I talk to people who don't really exist, because my image of them is what I think them to be, not ever necessarily what they are.
If you're reading this, you probably understand me better than I do, or could ever hope to. You may have noticed, but I have a masochistic tendancy to tell people exactly what I'm thinking. It never ends up well. It is my "Freudian slip." I entrust you with more information than you can handle, and then become upset when you ignore it, forget it, or throw it back in my face later on. I let too much "slip." Every little thought, every little two-bit thing. I find myself overcome by the urge to share my joy or misery with the world. It's my tragic flaw. It brings about my, or my circumstances, downfall--invariably, every time.
None of it is about anyone in particular, personally. It is merely the collective hodgepodge of my mind. Have you ever seen a most terribly unorganized office? That is a small inkling of what I imagine the inside of my head to look like. It's a mess. Nothing lines up, and nothing comes out right. When I mean to say one thing, I say another (or, as the Freudian slip pun goes, "when I mean to say one thing, I say your mother"). It's a complex, convoluted, confusing mess up there. I get tongue-tied and I get mixed up. Sometimes, however, that gets other people mixed up. It's a hard thing to deal with, when you know that your confusion has led to confusion in someone else.
Another thing you may not know about me: I have panic attacks. I have gotten myself so worked up or so afraid or so confused that I could not breathe. On numerous occasions. It doesn't happen often. Only as often as I find myself absolutely terrified that I will lose something or someone or some part of myself. Unfortunately, that happens more often than I should ever like.
I am intense, I am passionate, I am a type-B personality, I am confused yet know what is what. I think I'm a paradox. Maybe that's just my thought, but I think I fit that bill.
I always think it's hard to be me, but that's because I've never tried being anyone else.
If you're reading this, you probably understand me better than I do, or could ever hope to. You may have noticed, but I have a masochistic tendancy to tell people exactly what I'm thinking. It never ends up well. It is my "Freudian slip." I entrust you with more information than you can handle, and then become upset when you ignore it, forget it, or throw it back in my face later on. I let too much "slip." Every little thought, every little two-bit thing. I find myself overcome by the urge to share my joy or misery with the world. It's my tragic flaw. It brings about my, or my circumstances, downfall--invariably, every time.
None of it is about anyone in particular, personally. It is merely the collective hodgepodge of my mind. Have you ever seen a most terribly unorganized office? That is a small inkling of what I imagine the inside of my head to look like. It's a mess. Nothing lines up, and nothing comes out right. When I mean to say one thing, I say another (or, as the Freudian slip pun goes, "when I mean to say one thing, I say your mother"). It's a complex, convoluted, confusing mess up there. I get tongue-tied and I get mixed up. Sometimes, however, that gets other people mixed up. It's a hard thing to deal with, when you know that your confusion has led to confusion in someone else.
Another thing you may not know about me: I have panic attacks. I have gotten myself so worked up or so afraid or so confused that I could not breathe. On numerous occasions. It doesn't happen often. Only as often as I find myself absolutely terrified that I will lose something or someone or some part of myself. Unfortunately, that happens more often than I should ever like.
I am intense, I am passionate, I am a type-B personality, I am confused yet know what is what. I think I'm a paradox. Maybe that's just my thought, but I think I fit that bill.
I always think it's hard to be me, but that's because I've never tried being anyone else.
January 23, 2008
"see which way the wind blows" part one.
Let me tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl. We'll call her Alice. It's a nice name, and people often associate it with being lost, so we'll make use of that.
Now Alice wasn't quite sure where she was going. She knew where she came from, we'll give her that, but at the present time, she was just wandering about, trying to decide where she was and where she should go. She tried asking other folks where she was, but they we're quite sure themselves, so they couldn't answer her. She tried asking the trees, but trees never move, so they couldn't give a very definitive answer either. She tried asking the wind, but the wind is terribly unpredictable and isn't ever quite sure where it is at the moment, so all it could tell her was to "see which way the wind blows." Alice never could figure it out without a weather vane.
So Alice wandered about for a while.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl. We'll call her Alice. It's a nice name, and people often associate it with being lost, so we'll make use of that.
Now Alice wasn't quite sure where she was going. She knew where she came from, we'll give her that, but at the present time, she was just wandering about, trying to decide where she was and where she should go. She tried asking other folks where she was, but they we're quite sure themselves, so they couldn't answer her. She tried asking the trees, but trees never move, so they couldn't give a very definitive answer either. She tried asking the wind, but the wind is terribly unpredictable and isn't ever quite sure where it is at the moment, so all it could tell her was to "see which way the wind blows." Alice never could figure it out without a weather vane.
So Alice wandered about for a while.
January 6, 2008
reflection on the unknown love of a six-year-old
I'll cut your picture out and call it finest art
Hang it on a wall and watch it in the dark
My mother took it years ago when we were only ten
And my it's hard to say how much we've really changed since then
This is my Portrait of the Artist, I'll be your Mona Lisa
You were just a Young Man and I just tried to reach ya
I tried to be a Lady, talking proud and walking tall
Only just pretended like it was nothing at all
You never knew that beneath this smile was hiding adoration
Behind this laugh, just facing you, lurked all the inhibition
Henry James could novelize me: I made myself a fool
I never tried but here I am, it has become the rule
So make a list of your objections, sign it with your name
Think of them and write them down and I will do the same
False or true, this time tomorrow, I suppose we'll see
If you and I or you and me will be able to be we
Hang it on a wall and watch it in the dark
My mother took it years ago when we were only ten
And my it's hard to say how much we've really changed since then
This is my Portrait of the Artist, I'll be your Mona Lisa
You were just a Young Man and I just tried to reach ya
I tried to be a Lady, talking proud and walking tall
Only just pretended like it was nothing at all
You never knew that beneath this smile was hiding adoration
Behind this laugh, just facing you, lurked all the inhibition
Henry James could novelize me: I made myself a fool
I never tried but here I am, it has become the rule
So make a list of your objections, sign it with your name
Think of them and write them down and I will do the same
False or true, this time tomorrow, I suppose we'll see
If you and I or you and me will be able to be we
April 21, 2007
curiouser and curiouser.
Does anyone ever think that maybe, the people you care most about just don't care? I find myself wondering from time to time whether they listen when I start to talk. They may say they "listen," but isn't all that means is that they heard it, and it's over? It doesn't seem to imply that anyone cares when I speak of things that went on during my day. No one does. So I stopped talking about them. They don't make any difference, even to the people who care the most. So those things stay between me, my wall, and God. Then when my periodical contributions to conversation are shrugged off or ignored, I quit talking. And yet people wonder why I tend to stay silent as long as I can. I don't think anyone likes to have something they thought about and considered a valuable comment pushed off to the side or go unheard.
So I people-watch, instead of talking. People can see my face (or so it seems), so I try to show what I wish I could say through my expressions. But when no one watches me, I watch them. I notice things other people may not, because I refrain from speaking. I don't refrain because I don't wish to say anything, rather, because I wish to be heard and cannot. I have so many things I would like to say. But they don't matter to anyone, so I don't waste my breath. No, I watch the interactions between people. The way they shift when they say something, or when someone else does. The things I know about people contribute. If someone expresses disdain for a thing I know another party to the conversation cares a great deal for, I notice the way the latter moves uncomfortably. When someone refuses to look directly into another's eye. Just little things.
But I watch because I would rather, than for anything I may have to go uncared for. Because they aren't. I am guilty of it, as well. But it doesn't mean that it may hurt any less when it happens to me. I try as hard as I might to care for things people say. But more than that, I try to remember them. I know from personal experience how nice it is when people remember small things, that I may have thought no one would bother to notice.
Does it really matter? Probably not. But it pains me to know that the high expectations I have of the people I care the most about are going to be continually shorted, but even so, that I continue to impose them, knowing they will not be achieved. It isn't fair of me to put them there, but I suppose it is human nature that I still do so. I'm trying to work on that. It is very slow going.
I guess the point of all this is just to say: sure it doesn't matter to you. But couldn't you care, just because you care for me (or for anyone else)? Out of all the people in this world, I know I am not the only person who thinks this.
Pardon me if I have made no sense. My mind is a scary, mixed up "Wimoweh" sort of jungle. If you did, I am glad, but if not, I understand. And I am used to it, besides. I'll get by.
And now that I have finally spoken my full mind on something, I will go back to people-watching. Maybe one of these days, you'll see a book by me on my observations. People can be curious things. We do curious things, and say curious things.
"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English).
So I people-watch, instead of talking. People can see my face (or so it seems), so I try to show what I wish I could say through my expressions. But when no one watches me, I watch them. I notice things other people may not, because I refrain from speaking. I don't refrain because I don't wish to say anything, rather, because I wish to be heard and cannot. I have so many things I would like to say. But they don't matter to anyone, so I don't waste my breath. No, I watch the interactions between people. The way they shift when they say something, or when someone else does. The things I know about people contribute. If someone expresses disdain for a thing I know another party to the conversation cares a great deal for, I notice the way the latter moves uncomfortably. When someone refuses to look directly into another's eye. Just little things.
But I watch because I would rather, than for anything I may have to go uncared for. Because they aren't. I am guilty of it, as well. But it doesn't mean that it may hurt any less when it happens to me. I try as hard as I might to care for things people say. But more than that, I try to remember them. I know from personal experience how nice it is when people remember small things, that I may have thought no one would bother to notice.
Does it really matter? Probably not. But it pains me to know that the high expectations I have of the people I care the most about are going to be continually shorted, but even so, that I continue to impose them, knowing they will not be achieved. It isn't fair of me to put them there, but I suppose it is human nature that I still do so. I'm trying to work on that. It is very slow going.
I guess the point of all this is just to say: sure it doesn't matter to you. But couldn't you care, just because you care for me (or for anyone else)? Out of all the people in this world, I know I am not the only person who thinks this.
Pardon me if I have made no sense. My mind is a scary, mixed up "Wimoweh" sort of jungle. If you did, I am glad, but if not, I understand. And I am used to it, besides. I'll get by.
And now that I have finally spoken my full mind on something, I will go back to people-watching. Maybe one of these days, you'll see a book by me on my observations. People can be curious things. We do curious things, and say curious things.
"Curiouser and curiouser!" cried Alice (she was so much surprised, that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English).
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