Of love and repetition

"A fool needs novelty with new people; the wise can find novelty with one."~ Hugo Schwyzer



My realization:

Because here is the saddest thing-- belief in it comes and goes.

But I think Love is like liturgy-
there is always something gained,
even in the rote practice of it.

No one much likes liturgy these days.

writer's cliche: poke it and it deconstructs

the linings are all worn out
not ripped
just frayed
small fringed edges
lengthening bit by bit by bit by bit by bit
miniscule
insignificant disorder
because it's always disorder one strives against
because as soon as you're born you're bestowed with the title of "entropy fighter"
because you are supposed to create in some form or another
you are supposed to build
to tie
to grow
because you are supposed to make something of yourself in this world
that's right child
it's a mandate
make something
make something of your self
a self
Defend your self
because bit by bit by bit by bit
don't mind the chaos
build something
make something
be something
Defend yourself
build
and
defend
and
be.
don't you know you have to fight to be?
And you can craft elaborate defenses
on the resume of your existence
the things that you believe make you "interesting"
the things to bring up in the cosmic cocktail party
the things that line, well, let's not talk about it but we've already inferred it so we might as well say it your obituary
but it can't come to that yet because you've got an awful lot of building to do
all of these pretty little structures
for you to dwell in at least for a while
yes, your metaphorical little boxes on a hillside
and yes dear, the song is correct, they really do all look just the same
but let's not talk about that at the moment
but at least in the end there will be a lovely set of ruins
and if you've built enough
the biographers will be the new archaeologists
even though no one reads either genre anymore
but that's alright dear
no one can much expect such things as memory anymore
what with the flowerless state of graveyards these days
which is why you clearly must build your own monuments
because that's what humans do
they build monuments
and after all of these years, they never tire of chipping into rocks
they never tire of moving stones from one place to another
to form concentric rings
that somehow are supposed to mean something
the earliest form of existentialism
I can make meaning by dragging heavy things from place to place to place
just make it look like something
it doesn't have to be something now does it?
Give it a shape
assume things will yield
that's what you were born for
to make things
to make things by making them yield.
You don't like that language because it sounds like colonization.
You're a little guilt ridden now.
Yes, you little consumer.
Because as soon as you crawled out you hungered
and you will always hunger for something or another
and you will fight with those around you
in order to be filled
and you will fight the earth
in order to be filled
and you will do nothing but fight.
You will fight and fight and fight.
Because you will always take up space
and do you even know how much rent costs these days?
And you don't even flinch anymore because you're used to humans being described in terms of economy.
What is your cost of living.
Tell me.
What is your cost of living?
And how do you tally up self worth.
Money and monuments and hunger and fame
bricks in our tower to reach the heavens
shape the mud
from childhood we work in dirt.
But then there's always art
so noble
noble
and free
from the grime
but dear, did you really think something could escape?
that it's not about monuments or memory or hunger or fame
that it's not the same sort of scramble
the same sort of defense
the same old "this gives me a reason to exist."
Fucking Ubi Sunt of a brick.

Reply: I am. I do not owe the world an explanation why I am and should be here.

Rebuttal: Then why, dear, do you write?

what I want for my upcoming birthday

I want one day of emotional peace. Just one.
I'm not asking for the moon.
But apparently even 5 minutes free from worry/fear/recrimination/regret/any negative emotion you can name is not possible.

Just 5 minutes.
Just 5 minutes.
Please.

Discovery, Priority Shifts

I can commit to people and relationships, but not to any major life decisions. I know now is the time of life when I'm supposed to throw everything to the wind and become hard-boiled and career centered. But there's the hitch: not much is available in that department. I need a master's degree for what I want to do. I cannot as yet afford that. Nor am I ready to jump in. In the meantime, I'm supposed to find a semi-meaningful job that will make me enough money to live on and hopefully keep part of my brain alive until I can leap back into academia where my heart belongs. But you know what? Those jobs are rare. I am out there in this economy with a humanities degree. I live super-frugally and paycheck to paycheck. And you know what? I would love to be a workaholic. Shoot, that's how I've been my whole life. But I can't do that, and none of the jobs available offer the kind of fulfillment that would enable me to once again exist without people. But I'm not really sure that I could ever do that again---if there is one thing that this past year has taught me, it's that people are Meaning. I fully believe more than ever before that something as simple as a conversation or a cup of tea with a friend, an acquaintance, hell, even a stranger--is something extraordinarily sacred. It doesn't matter if the encounter is witty or entertaining or academically productive. It doesn't matter if the person is someone you will only know for a few months or for a lifetime. None of the pragmatics matter. You don't know how long a person will be in your sphere--but that cannot affect your investment in them. You must invest. You must love and love and love. Because that is all that we can do in the face of all of the shit that we encounter. Love is the only thing that has a shot at eternity. I used to limit my investment in people, because I had "important things" to do. I now know that they are the importance. All of my old ambitions are shot, or at least waiting to be reincarnated in a fashion that is open to community.
I have never known how to love God. I used to believe that my love could be centered in meticulous rule following. Clearly I wasn't really getting what the New Testament is all about. But now I know--the best way to love Him is through loving people. I always knew that theoretically, but it never fully set in. I never understood how short our time is-- I never understood that the only way for us to mildly touch on knowing divinity is to look for the spark of it in those who were created in His image. I don't see just flesh and blood anymore-- I see fellow souls (and sense that most of us are lonely ones.) And I know that community is not just an economic or psychological necessity--it is sacred. It is worship. We live in a world where we find so many convenient ways to build in distance, to shy away, to preserve our inner core. We prefer media to real live conversation, entertainment to banal everyday human interaction. Connection is rare. Emotional commitment is transient. We rarely trust each other. Hell, we rarely trust ourselves. But all of this only translates into why the intent to connect is so vitally important.
So what am I doing with my life? Damned if I know.
But here is my secret unimpressive answer:
Loving.

The end of chivalry.

I've done a lot of things.

I've moved away from being queen of a one-horse town.

I've been to England.

I've earned a degree.

I've had my first failed love,

suitably tragic

nastily defining.

The sort of thing that is supposed to make better poetry.

It does not.





I live a very simple life on a low wage

hoping and waiting to become a scholar,

but hoping more simply to save beyond rent.


I pretend that I am more artistic and bohemian than I actually am,

because I occasionally go dancing in the city,

attend author readings,

and haunt museum hallways on discount days.

I attempt recipes from Julia Child.

I attempt to paint the Virgin Mary--over and over again, faceless every time.

I attempt to absorb the smatterings of theory that I buy in dog-eared copy at musty bookstores.

I attempt to listen to my grandmother's records of Carmina Burana and La Traviata.

In the end, it's my mother's Joni Mitchell--"Blue" at least 3 times for good measure.

I plan a lot of themed parties.



I would like very much to stop being unhappy.

I live a nice little life.

I sing in a lovely little church choir.

I sing in a church with lovely stained-glass windows.

There's a lot that's lovely.

I've done a lot of things.



I try to recollect the days of deadlines and ambition

but nothing retains linear shape.


Cycles.

Days.

Months.
Episodes.



Sometimes I can catch a glimpse of my old self.

She runs and hides.


She knows this:

this world is a beautiful one.

Beautiful.

but not safe.


Aesthetics are not a womb.

I know that now.

Rescues will not grow sinews from your ponderings.

And words won't dress as heroes anymore.

Of course you work in a medium of lost faith.

You would, now, wouldn't you?

Always, Gilda, Always

Note to self: stop being a drama queen about personal life.
Say no to drama, yes to peace.
Be zen.
Be epitome of calm.

I did not know I was signing up for this.

Easter Seems Closer and Closer

Fake Spring Break did the trick. I feel like a new person. I am done with the sackloth. My life, however humble, however directionless, however marked by mourning it has been, however random and young, is still beautiful. It's beautiful. And no one can tell me otherwise.