Introvert Sabbath

http://benjaminwblog.com/2014/07/introvert-sabbath/

Life has a way of sneaking up on you. You can either be a predator, or the prey, and you are not locked into the food chain of being. I think I’m woolgathering much, of late. I feel as though I’m one of those tribesmen mentioned in the Golden Compass who drill holes in the roofs of their skulls to collect dust. The magic-manna is falling from the heavens, and I’m gathering it where I must. It’s all very surreal, where I am. The skies are so elegant blueblueblue, and as I drove up Rex Hill, I marveled at the magnificent range of greens supplied by all the different trees. The darker pines and firs, the spring-bright verdancy of the maples and poplars, the darker edge of the oaks, the almost yellow hint on the aspens, the silver underbellies or the leaves on the bushes at the base of the mighty trees – greens arrayed all before me, side-by-side all reaching for the sky-lights.

But I’m woolgathering, as the world is beautiful and bright, and I’m spinning in circles as life shark-swims around me, preparing its strike, though I believe that I am the predator here. And in this time of new relationship, house, people, places, busyness, summer, Oregon, sunshine, earth, friends, books, thoughts, I’m discovering so many difficult and beautiful things.

I’m learning that relationships have a seemingly selfish component. That is, that relationship means I have to share my feelings, opinions, and desires, instead of merely seeking to fulfill the wishes of those I love. Not that that is a lousy tendency, and it is one that relationships in general tend to enjoy, but that a healthy relationship requires a certain reciprocity of giving and reception. You cannot simply give, but must receive and share also.

Because of this, I’m learning what it means to explain, carry, and examine feelings. I’m such an individualistic person that I’m quite capable of hiding these things so deeply inside of me that I only ever bless others, and never expect anything in return. I grew up lying so that I didn’t have to share these feelings, and though I stopped doing so in college, understanding that lies are not a firm foundation for honest friendships, I’m still playing my cards so close to my chest that it’s difficult to remember what showing them is like.

I’ve learned, again, how little things can be important, and even if I don’t value them, others might. Isn’t that the nature of reality? One man’s trash is another’s treasure?

Life is sneaking up on me, but I think I see it coming. It’s none so stealthy as it believes, and it never leaves, truly, only schemes another angle of assault. And I’m learning, living, loving, and laughing through life, and every day the Spirit intercedes for me in my weakness (with groanings too deep to utter).

But that’s enough babbling for one evening. I’m exhausted, but pleased. Sabbath Sunday: success. Even if much of it was cleaning, it was still sufficiently introverted in all the necessary ways.

Sunday of Dandelions

Today was sunshine and dandelions, and drawing things that looked like neither. Spring pries winter's fingers from its strangle-hold; flowers and souls blossom to life; starlings nest in the roof slats; grass grows; dogwoods, cherry-blossoms, and plums delight in fragrance and alight with startling colors; and shorts, sun-skirts, light jackets, and the outdoors replace time spent huddling inside under mountains of blankets. It's remembering-the-world season.
I've missed it, the world.

 The world rocks, Ahuva, shudders and burns, quaking beneath the thumping knees of the heavens. Aviva sprawls, she shakes her slippered feet, pops neatly from her cocoon, but your wings are not ready, dear, and the sun cries anxiously.
Ahuva, dance the puddles down the city streets hurry, beloved, time is not, nor will ever be...
lasting, everlasting,  as we seem, so smell the flowers and the trees while racing along every city street, fly while holding hands
and breath, remember everything. for nigh the time arrives to say goodbye, Ahuva, don't wait for me, you're everything when you believe - and I'll surrender everything to see
how far you'll fly




jumbled-diction-stuff-day

Some days, like each of these, I've a magnificent golden mane, and others I'm all seeds, tattered and translucent, fragile as the breeze. I'll travel, but there will be pieces of me dispatched most violently to God-knows-where. Golden-mane-me makes a fine tea, but with these white plumes, people pluck me violently with questions thrown into the wind. Life is not all sunshine and daisies, I exclaim to the tiny white flowers surrounding me, and they natter on irreverently. The tulips understand, praying with delicacy - they understand timing and set the stage most elegantly.