The sun has been shining lately and I feel so completely different. I love the energy and strength that comes with the long days. We've had several extended weekends as well and that has given me a taste of summer. It is so liberating to lose the stress and negativity from my working life. I am once again basking in the warmth and joy of my children and family. We have all found our way to more comfortable footing.
I attribute this new life, feeling so much as a seedling must when it breaks through the soil into its first rays of sunlight, to many things- beginnings, endings and reconnections. Though I recognize all that has changed in my life, I always suspect that a large part of this joy is pure energy emanating from the sun. I am hoping that in Africa I will find the sunny days just as rejuvenating.
The time is drawing closer. Attending to details has taken up any time of nervousness or worry. I guess there will be time for that later. There is occassional doubt, however, and I am trying to see this step as one of many that may finally lead to a positive future for us. All of the planning may lead where you never thought, as is often the case for me. But I haven't given it up as it seems a sensible and adult thing to do.
Yes, I'm trying to be responsible and feel more like a grown-up on this eve(eve3) of my birthday. I had given myself until 35 to panic, thinking I haven't really done anything with my life yet. Honestly, I think this trip to Africa will be a significant cross off my list. (Maybe I have left: write a book, create a famous piece of art [famous only after death of course, I suppose I won't really ever be able to cross that one off,] and there was that house-boat I was going to live on with my grandma...) But I do get to thinking, as all good dreamers do, why we're here and what is so important that we must accomplish anyway.
On a bright and sunny day, I can see that just having my children and preparing them for a good life is a feat. There are days when I strive for more and feel as though I must leave something, a message, a work or service of some importance to others. Most days I feel like this. That I should be involved. And I am never involved enough; that's how my eyes see it. I'm 34 and what have I done? This is so typical, so "mid-life crisis," I can barely stand it. But its true of who we are as humans. The need to feel important, the need to be contributing.
And so I have contemplated what to bring with me to Congo. What are the things I will really need there? It has come to be similar to a ten month camping trip in my mind. There are definately things I will not be able to get there. But then, who knows what I might find.
So it is that I am considering going without any books. I wonder if I could make this a year of faithful inquisition. I considered just bringing a book of faith and comitting to reading it alone. I considered for quite a few days before relenting and suggesting to myself that I might see it more as a "theme" and bring books that help to explain or further enlighten (somewhat fearful I might not uncover enlightment without expert guidance.)
I am thinking that developing my faith will help to ease this burden of never feeling accomplished or complete. I really want to feel the faith as strong within me as my self-doubt is now. Whenever I check, it is there, waiting to conduct a lengthy conversation. It remains to remind me that I have not truly conquered it; despite my careful acquisition of education and skill, it is sown as deep and prolific as bamboo, ready to spread into a quick and hearty ground cover.
Perhaps ten months of dedication and study can replace that with knowledge and strength. I want to believe. Or rather, I do believe but it doesn't yet feel like a second skin. Sometimes I see my faith more as a jacket that I put on and take off to regulate temperature, when really I want it to be the air I breathe and the nourishment that gives me life.
Prayer is better than sleep. But so often I pull up the blankets and listen to the chirping of the birds and feel the cool breeze flowing through my open window.
There are signs for those who know. This is what I feel in the warmth and energy of the sun. And as I lay in my early morning bed listening, I am thinking of the divine, but I have not really dedicated my attention.
There are signs for those who know. Clearly.
28.4.08
3.4.08
Inside Words
This last month has been one full of paradoxes; ups and downs, ins and outs. In one of our 3 a.m. conversations, I heard this phrase..."I see your inside words....." I sat straight up in bed, finally illuminated. And it has been following me ever since. I've seen it in in print, I've heard it run through my mind at the most opportune times, reminding me that this is in fact a game we all play; the words we say and the inside words we mean.
I knew that going to Africa would highlight just how American I am- something I've never really been able to appreciate. I guess I just figured I would actually get to Africa before I started seeing it. Here I am in my very own house in a country little town in the USA realizing that I get extremely frustrated with inside words. I began to remember that this was always my fear as a child. Being misunderstood. If I created art, would people really get it? If I wrote the words, could a reader really understand? Because I love literature and poetry, I am fascinated by the many ways of saying things without really saying them. Poetry vs. prose, I guess. But I am just now understanding that in my social relationships, I don't want inside words. I want fresh, clear, honest communication.
My recent reading choices have brought me to many cultures and continents and I have found it impossible to relate to those that require silence. Keeping silence, maintaining silence, speaking in codes that hope the listener will figure out the true meaning. I'm so American. I just want people to say what they mean and mean what they say. I can't work in opposites or omissions. I can't manage polite deference or resignantion.
I appreciate these qualities, for certain. I have spent much time marveling at how my husband can hold his tongue when he is angry but though striving, I have never managed to attain this level of patience. Just lately, I am shocked at how far his inside words reach. I have always thought he was not listening (I'm not entirely giving this idea up) but of late I see that I have not been an active listener. I want to sit and plan our life together. He is not a planner. He defers to me and assumes I will hear his inside words of resistance. I take his deference to be acceptance or aloofness. How could I have been so blind? All the while looking outside at the ocean blue, forgetting to forage deep beneath the surface and appreciate the true complexities blooming there.
I've even read the book comparing Eastern and Western thought processes (I'm so bad with titles, but it was a fascinating study...if only I could recommend it....) It was very explicit in this aspect of active listening: an example would be of a child singing a song very loudly. The mother might respond with something like " You're music is very strong." The hidden message is that the loudness is disturbing to others. I'm thinking it could take years for a child to realize this. Of course, there are many subtle lessons over time that reinforce listening for the real intention of the speaker, regardless of the words. Should I be surprised that we often pass each other on our separate paths of communication. He is busy listening for my inside words that do not exist and I am busy listening to his spoken words that do not really express.
I do recognize times when I use these inside words. And I recognize times when I fear putting my words out, plainly or otherwise. Because words have a way of returning, dressed up in costumes we never intended them to wear.
I can still get lost in the plane of thought, trying to untangle the web of social interactions that prove no matter what I do or say or write, there are people who will just never be able to see me. Sometimes I wonder how important that is. Is it supposed to be important? Or can I just wander along in my own private fog, secure in my notion self?
Someone like me cannot really do that.
I knew that going to Africa would highlight just how American I am- something I've never really been able to appreciate. I guess I just figured I would actually get to Africa before I started seeing it. Here I am in my very own house in a country little town in the USA realizing that I get extremely frustrated with inside words. I began to remember that this was always my fear as a child. Being misunderstood. If I created art, would people really get it? If I wrote the words, could a reader really understand? Because I love literature and poetry, I am fascinated by the many ways of saying things without really saying them. Poetry vs. prose, I guess. But I am just now understanding that in my social relationships, I don't want inside words. I want fresh, clear, honest communication.
My recent reading choices have brought me to many cultures and continents and I have found it impossible to relate to those that require silence. Keeping silence, maintaining silence, speaking in codes that hope the listener will figure out the true meaning. I'm so American. I just want people to say what they mean and mean what they say. I can't work in opposites or omissions. I can't manage polite deference or resignantion.
I appreciate these qualities, for certain. I have spent much time marveling at how my husband can hold his tongue when he is angry but though striving, I have never managed to attain this level of patience. Just lately, I am shocked at how far his inside words reach. I have always thought he was not listening (I'm not entirely giving this idea up) but of late I see that I have not been an active listener. I want to sit and plan our life together. He is not a planner. He defers to me and assumes I will hear his inside words of resistance. I take his deference to be acceptance or aloofness. How could I have been so blind? All the while looking outside at the ocean blue, forgetting to forage deep beneath the surface and appreciate the true complexities blooming there.
I've even read the book comparing Eastern and Western thought processes (I'm so bad with titles, but it was a fascinating study...if only I could recommend it....) It was very explicit in this aspect of active listening: an example would be of a child singing a song very loudly. The mother might respond with something like " You're music is very strong." The hidden message is that the loudness is disturbing to others. I'm thinking it could take years for a child to realize this. Of course, there are many subtle lessons over time that reinforce listening for the real intention of the speaker, regardless of the words. Should I be surprised that we often pass each other on our separate paths of communication. He is busy listening for my inside words that do not exist and I am busy listening to his spoken words that do not really express.
I do recognize times when I use these inside words. And I recognize times when I fear putting my words out, plainly or otherwise. Because words have a way of returning, dressed up in costumes we never intended them to wear.
I can still get lost in the plane of thought, trying to untangle the web of social interactions that prove no matter what I do or say or write, there are people who will just never be able to see me. Sometimes I wonder how important that is. Is it supposed to be important? Or can I just wander along in my own private fog, secure in my notion self?
Someone like me cannot really do that.
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