So I am really not blogging much, am I?
It's not that there's nothing going on...just that most of it is very internal. I am struggling, but not in a bad way, I don't think. Since I miss blogging and all, I thought I would take a clue from Rob and just share tidbits.
1.) In my thrilling life I have nearly weekly dates with the dentist. After years of no insurance, I'm finally wrestling what's left of my teeth back under my control. I keep having this reccuring image of my mouth as a monstrously expensive, prodigiously ugly Faberge Egg, all enamel and porcelain and precious metals. Just wanted to share that.
2.) I am taking a class on evolutionary anthropology and it is HARD! I thought I would mostly be looking at pretty fossils and chimps and coming up with neat explanations for why humans do this or that. Instead I am soaking my head in terms like Australopithecus habilis and trying to write a paper that is due any minute now. Instead, I am sort of blogging. With zero deep thoughts. About protohuman hominids or otherwise. In fact, this is the scariest paper I have ever had to write, since it's not really asking for my opinion. In the past every paper I have ever written was only asking for my opinion. Me = Big on Opinions, Small on Facts. Ay.
3.) Much of my inward work has been in the arena of opening myself up to fellowship and friendship. While in moments of social desperation and an excess of company I can look like an extrovert, I'm really not. Sometimes laying an army of insecurities down one at a time feels like a fulltime job, especially since they often spring back with little warning. I would rather be lonely than risk ridicule or rejection, and not a lot gets accomplished from that place of fear. This is a slow process with lots of backsliding that is complicated by things like depression and stress, both of which tend to trigger the isolating reflex.
4.) I love to knit. I really do. This is the best thing that's happened to me in a while, this learning to knit.
5.) My family is having a really tough time, and it's hard for all of us. Please pray for them. And me, that I can be supportive and loving and helpful from so far away.
6.) I read some good Quaker fiction, for the first time: Impassioned Clay by Stevie Davies. I found it a beautiful, painful book that caught me into its world and kept me there even when it was an uncomfortable place to be. I have a small stockpile of Quaker Nonfiction near my bed too, but cannot seem to pick up anything but the bible (not exactly non-fiction, but you get the point), so I am letting that be for the moment. I have zero pangs of conscience about continuing to read good novels even when I cannot bear to so much as blink at Bownas et al. It is amazing, some of the soul-snarls that I have had worked out me in the past, just by the reading some good, life-filled fiction.
7.) And poetry:
It dropped so low in my regard
I heard it hit the ground,
And go to pieces on the stones
At bottom of my mind;
Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less
Than I reviled myself
For entertaining plated wares
Upon my silver shelf.
--Emily Dickinson
8.) Jeff is home from the FWCC Section of the Americas Gathering. I managed to go to pick him up at the airport twice. For one trip. Because I do not do well with details. Or itineraries. While he was gone it was cold and dark and windy and it even snowed. Now it is sunny and warm. Coincidence? Well, probably. But welcome home, Jeff! He said I could share his pictures with you. They are pretty great.
Of The Best Stuff, but Cracked
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Serenity
There was a shortlived but wonderful show on Fox some time ago called Firefly. It must have corresponded to one of the many times in my life that I've been without a television, because somehow I missed it entirely. When I was finally introduced to it on DVD, I fell instantly in love. It was a silly space-bandit sort-of-sci-fi series by Joss Whedon. I never got into any of his more famous shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but this one caught my imagination in a special way. When a movie based on the series came out last year, called Serenity (the name of the space bandits' ship), it was a great event. I found myself looking forward to the movie with childlike anticipation. I could hardly remember ever being more excited to see a film. *cough*travestyofstarwars*cough*
When we saw the film, I was enraged and horrified to see my favourite character die a stupid, senseless death right before the end. His death didn't move the plot forward, he didn't die in any heroic way, it was just...
Well. It's become a running gag among the friends who went to see the movie how upset I was about this. For weeks *cough*months*cough* after I saw the film, I'd blurt out non-sequiturs about this character's death. Other people praised the death scene, saying it was just like life, that it pointed out how senseless most death is, that it was the way things worked in the real world.
"Not my world." I'd think. I leaned into the joke, becoming a caricature of indignant grief. I railed against Joss Whedon in a way that most people reserve for an unjust creator. If I was Joss Whedon, this would never have happened. If I were Joss Whedon, I would do things very differently. If I were Joss Whedon, I would change things. Stupid Joss Whedon.
Why am I blabbering about defunct sci-fi?
This morning I was in the kitchen of the Friend's Center as the weekly A.A. meeting was winding up. People had moments of revelation over donuts. They cried at the drop of a hat. (or, more like it, at the drop of crumbs all over my freshly swept floor). They hugged each other constantly. They were so intense. They spouted slogans at each other without irony, and what was worse, they accepted being sloganed at without irony. Someone would lean in, fix the other's gaze, and repeat a well-worn phrase. The other person would react with shock and awe as if they'd just been offered a new and profound truth that would change their whole life! I found myself unreasonably annoyed. I didn't know what it was that was triggering such irrational irritablity and ill-nature. I was suprised to find so little compassion running in my bloodstream at that moment. As I washed dishes I lectured myself and tried to turn my attitude around, reminding myself how good and brave and strong these people were to be working so actively at improving their lives. From the other room I could hear them recite another slogan in unison. I cringed. Finally, the Serenity prayer. I cringed a little more, involutarily.
In my childhood I spent a lot of time around people in Recovery. I read most of the A.A. canon before I was ten, just because it was around, and I read everything that was around. I've seen the twelve steps help people make amazing changes. So what was my problem this morning? Why the sudden anger and distain for something so overwhelmingly positive?
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.
Okay, let's take the middle part first. I'm cool with the middle part. I've got lots of courage. I will change any damn thing I can. If I can change a thing, I'm there. Look, I'm changing it right now. No problem.
But I hate the first part. (And I hate the third part.) I have no serenity. I claim to want serenity. I checked out Zen--they are supposed to have lots of serenity. But I it turned out there was one thing I didn't like about Zen. They didn't want to change anything. Or something to that effect. I didn't stay long enough to figure it out.
And now I'm a Quaker. Once again, serenity. Serenity/Peace, Peace/Serenity. Really?
serene
adj 1: characterized by absence of emotional agitation; "calm acceptance of the inevitable"; "remained serene in the midst of turbulence"; "a serene expression on her face"; "she became more tranquil"; "tranquil life in the country" [syn: calm, tranquil] 2: completely clear and fine; "serene skies and a bright blue sea"
Etymology:
serene
1508, "clear, calm," from L. serenus "peaceful, calm, clear" (of weather), of unknown origin. Applied to persons since 1635. Serenity (1538) is from O.Fr. serenite, from L. serenitatem (nom. serenitas) "clearness, serenity," from serenus.
Hmm.
The things I cannot change.
Oh my God, I hate the things I cannot change. There are so many things in my life that I hate, that I want to change, that I work very hard to change, that I pray for God to change. I do not want the wisdom to know that there are things I cannot change, things that God cannot change, things that God and I cannot change.
I can't be serene in the face of that.
I had a little nervous breakdown, realizing all of this today. I realized I was angry at the A.A. people for the circumspect way they were going about changing, for their firm belief that if they applied a certain set of proven principles, rules, and slogans to their life, things would change. I saw the futility of so many of my own efforts at change. I saw the seemingly immovable things that are in the way of the life I want to have. I saw how my faith in rules and slogans has been betrayed, and how I've had to let go of so many of the things I was sure would change my life for the better. I resented the placid faith that I was projecting onto the A.A.ers, because it is one that I have lost, for better or for worse.
I've been purged this year of so many of my ideas about an omnipotent God. I have no hands but thine. So often I look at my hands, or worse...at other people's hands, and I think, well then, if that's the case, God is totally screwed.
I've learned how small and diffident God can seem. I've finally come to understand the gruesome side of "free will" and seen that actually, yes, my almighty God can be thwarted. We can thwart God. We thwart God every day. I can thwart God. God knows how often or in how many unimagined ways! Or worse, other people can thwart God, and I won't be able to do a damn thing to change it.
It burned me up.
Jeff listened to my tantrum, not unlike the one I'd had when my pet character was so ignobly impaled in the film. He pointed out that everything I said was true, but that the important thing was that God isn't thwarted in the end. In the end, God wins. Love wins. Life wins. Things change. Believing that=faith.
Crucifixion/Resurrection et al.
Argh! Bah! I always want to read the last page first. I read articles backwards.
In meeting last week I gave a message. A psalm rose to my mind:
As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and behold the face of God?
My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, "Where is your God?"
These things I remember, as I pour out my soul: how I went with the throng, and led them in procession to the house of God, with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival.
Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help
and my God. My soul is cast down within me; therefore I remember you from the land of Jordan and of Hermon, from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep at the thunder of your waterfalls; all your waves and your billows have gone over me.
By day the Lord commands his steadfast love, and at night his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life.
I say to God, my rock, "Why have you forgotten me? Why must I walk about mournfully because the enemy oppresses me?"
As with a deadly wound in my body, my adversaries taunt me, while they say to me continually, "Where is your God?"
Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God.
My message was about desert, and about rushing water. About manna from heaven and not turning stones into bread in your impatience, but waiting to be fed. About how the landscape of your soul is transformed by the flood of the spirit, fixtures and buildings and earth washed away, and new features arising.
And I think I ignored every word of it after it came out of my mouth. Where is this living water? Where is this living God? The movement of God at times feels like water-torture, one slow drip at a time, slowly wearing away stone, s-l-o-w-l-y changing it. Over eons.
I am not afraid of the torrent. "I pant", says the psalmist. "I thirst", says the Christ. "Me too!" I whine. I'm not afraid of the flood...I long for it.
What I fear is the waiting.
Oh, ironic Quaker Amanda!
And I wonder, do I need more Water, or do I need to be softer Stone? Neither? How do I change? How am I being changed? How long do I have to wait? How on earth can I find serenity when there are things outside of my power to change, things that desperately need changing, things that must be changed? And I'm not even talking about the Big Things that need to be changed--things like war and injustice and poverty, at least not yet. I'm talking about horrible little banal internal things that I can't seem to change. How can I accept that there is a difference between what I can and cannot change? How can I remain peaceful, clear and calm?
I am finding shocking comfort in the old testament. For every jubilant shout of praise there is an equal and opposite cry of longing and pain.
How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?
Consider and answer me, O Lord my God! Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death,
and my enemy will say, "I have prevailed"; my foes will rejoice because I am shaken.
But I trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.
There is little serenity in the psalms. There are moans and supplications, there are wishes for vengance. There is gloating and grieving in equal, gorgeously human amounts. But the serenity, when it is to be found, always comes tagging along at the end, and it always comes paired with the word "trust", "hope" or "faith".
Sigh.
When we saw the film, I was enraged and horrified to see my favourite character die a stupid, senseless death right before the end. His death didn't move the plot forward, he didn't die in any heroic way, it was just...
Well. It's become a running gag among the friends who went to see the movie how upset I was about this. For weeks *cough*months*cough* after I saw the film, I'd blurt out non-sequiturs about this character's death. Other people praised the death scene, saying it was just like life, that it pointed out how senseless most death is, that it was the way things worked in the real world.
"Not my world." I'd think. I leaned into the joke, becoming a caricature of indignant grief. I railed against Joss Whedon in a way that most people reserve for an unjust creator. If I was Joss Whedon, this would never have happened. If I were Joss Whedon, I would do things very differently. If I were Joss Whedon, I would change things. Stupid Joss Whedon.
Why am I blabbering about defunct sci-fi?
This morning I was in the kitchen of the Friend's Center as the weekly A.A. meeting was winding up. People had moments of revelation over donuts. They cried at the drop of a hat. (or, more like it, at the drop of crumbs all over my freshly swept floor). They hugged each other constantly. They were so intense. They spouted slogans at each other without irony, and what was worse, they accepted being sloganed at without irony. Someone would lean in, fix the other's gaze, and repeat a well-worn phrase. The other person would react with shock and awe as if they'd just been offered a new and profound truth that would change their whole life! I found myself unreasonably annoyed. I didn't know what it was that was triggering such irrational irritablity and ill-nature. I was suprised to find so little compassion running in my bloodstream at that moment. As I washed dishes I lectured myself and tried to turn my attitude around, reminding myself how good and brave and strong these people were to be working so actively at improving their lives. From the other room I could hear them recite another slogan in unison. I cringed. Finally, the Serenity prayer. I cringed a little more, involutarily.
In my childhood I spent a lot of time around people in Recovery. I read most of the A.A. canon before I was ten, just because it was around, and I read everything that was around. I've seen the twelve steps help people make amazing changes. So what was my problem this morning? Why the sudden anger and distain for something so overwhelmingly positive?
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.
Okay, let's take the middle part first. I'm cool with the middle part. I've got lots of courage. I will change any damn thing I can. If I can change a thing, I'm there. Look, I'm changing it right now. No problem.
But I hate the first part. (And I hate the third part.) I have no serenity. I claim to want serenity. I checked out Zen--they are supposed to have lots of serenity. But I it turned out there was one thing I didn't like about Zen. They didn't want to change anything. Or something to that effect. I didn't stay long enough to figure it out.
And now I'm a Quaker. Once again, serenity. Serenity/Peace, Peace/Serenity. Really?
serene
adj 1: characterized by absence of emotional agitation; "calm acceptance of the inevitable"; "remained serene in the midst of turbulence"; "a serene expression on her face"; "she became more tranquil"; "tranquil life in the country" [syn: calm, tranquil] 2: completely clear and fine; "serene skies and a bright blue sea"
Etymology:
serene
1508, "clear, calm," from L. serenus "peaceful, calm, clear" (of weather), of unknown origin. Applied to persons since 1635. Serenity (1538) is from O.Fr. serenite, from L. serenitatem (nom. serenitas) "clearness, serenity," from serenus.
Hmm.
The things I cannot change.
Oh my God, I hate the things I cannot change. There are so many things in my life that I hate, that I want to change, that I work very hard to change, that I pray for God to change. I do not want the wisdom to know that there are things I cannot change, things that God cannot change, things that God and I cannot change.
I can't be serene in the face of that.
I had a little nervous breakdown, realizing all of this today. I realized I was angry at the A.A. people for the circumspect way they were going about changing, for their firm belief that if they applied a certain set of proven principles, rules, and slogans to their life, things would change. I saw the futility of so many of my own efforts at change. I saw the seemingly immovable things that are in the way of the life I want to have. I saw how my faith in rules and slogans has been betrayed, and how I've had to let go of so many of the things I was sure would change my life for the better. I resented the placid faith that I was projecting onto the A.A.ers, because it is one that I have lost, for better or for worse.
I've been purged this year of so many of my ideas about an omnipotent God. I have no hands but thine. So often I look at my hands, or worse...at other people's hands, and I think, well then, if that's the case, God is totally screwed.
I've learned how small and diffident God can seem. I've finally come to understand the gruesome side of "free will" and seen that actually, yes, my almighty God can be thwarted. We can thwart God. We thwart God every day. I can thwart God. God knows how often or in how many unimagined ways! Or worse, other people can thwart God, and I won't be able to do a damn thing to change it.
It burned me up.
Jeff listened to my tantrum, not unlike the one I'd had when my pet character was so ignobly impaled in the film. He pointed out that everything I said was true, but that the important thing was that God isn't thwarted in the end. In the end, God wins. Love wins. Life wins. Things change. Believing that=faith.
Crucifixion/Resurrection et al.
Argh! Bah! I always want to read the last page first. I read articles backwards.
In meeting last week I gave a message. A psalm rose to my mind:
As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and behold the face of God?
My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, "Where is your God?"
These things I remember, as I pour out my soul: how I went with the throng, and led them in procession to the house of God, with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival.
Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help
and my God. My soul is cast down within me; therefore I remember you from the land of Jordan and of Hermon, from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep at the thunder of your waterfalls; all your waves and your billows have gone over me.
By day the Lord commands his steadfast love, and at night his song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life.
I say to God, my rock, "Why have you forgotten me? Why must I walk about mournfully because the enemy oppresses me?"
As with a deadly wound in my body, my adversaries taunt me, while they say to me continually, "Where is your God?"
Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God.
My message was about desert, and about rushing water. About manna from heaven and not turning stones into bread in your impatience, but waiting to be fed. About how the landscape of your soul is transformed by the flood of the spirit, fixtures and buildings and earth washed away, and new features arising.
And I think I ignored every word of it after it came out of my mouth. Where is this living water? Where is this living God? The movement of God at times feels like water-torture, one slow drip at a time, slowly wearing away stone, s-l-o-w-l-y changing it. Over eons.
I am not afraid of the torrent. "I pant", says the psalmist. "I thirst", says the Christ. "Me too!" I whine. I'm not afraid of the flood...I long for it.
What I fear is the waiting.
Oh, ironic Quaker Amanda!
And I wonder, do I need more Water, or do I need to be softer Stone? Neither? How do I change? How am I being changed? How long do I have to wait? How on earth can I find serenity when there are things outside of my power to change, things that desperately need changing, things that must be changed? And I'm not even talking about the Big Things that need to be changed--things like war and injustice and poverty, at least not yet. I'm talking about horrible little banal internal things that I can't seem to change. How can I accept that there is a difference between what I can and cannot change? How can I remain peaceful, clear and calm?
I am finding shocking comfort in the old testament. For every jubilant shout of praise there is an equal and opposite cry of longing and pain.
How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long? How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?
Consider and answer me, O Lord my God! Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep the sleep of death,
and my enemy will say, "I have prevailed"; my foes will rejoice because I am shaken.
But I trusted in your steadfast love; my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord, because he has dealt bountifully with me.
There is little serenity in the psalms. There are moans and supplications, there are wishes for vengance. There is gloating and grieving in equal, gorgeously human amounts. But the serenity, when it is to be found, always comes tagging along at the end, and it always comes paired with the word "trust", "hope" or "faith".
Sigh.
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