Rome in Filthy Rags

December 4th, 2014
I wrote this upon return from my only out-of-country excursion from my Europe-based headquarters in Ireland. I was judgmental (and jealous) of those who traveled to different countries every weekend. I viewed them as wealthy, proud, showboaty list-checkers who were thinking more about all their stories they'd tell when they got home than the times they were having now. I was also jealous. I was proud of working hard in my academics while abroad. This trip was my one indulgence I took on my own. I ended up getting sick right between taking a weekend for my adventure and my upcoming finals. Here's what I wrote:

I am writing in the crock-pot of a sick day.
Lots of words. Lots to process. [I want some good reading material.]

I went to Rome and I took about eight pictures.
My visit was so bad by so many standards. I spent most of my time hungry and tired.
I was swindled, ignored, treated politely, begged to, guided, and walked, walked, walked.
Too sad to order food on my own, without the spirit to order wine on my own more than once, I kept to fruit stands and ice cream shops. I met the peddlers, the homeless, I met the rich and vacationing lost souls caught still in adolescence at a bar,
looking for the world just like I was.
Most people I talked to, usually ended up with some of my money. I was sad about it.
There were a few people, though, where we really saw each other.
We waved.

Now the downhill rush,
I've got finals coming up, there's this rich smoke in the air and I can't breathe right through my own snot.

But really
I'm so out of touch with so much of this university junk.

Honestly, over the last week or so, I just fell so in love with God
and I don't even know how to express it.
My heart is aching at how I haven't been celebrating it,
how I don't know who to celebrate it with.
Like
I've been a Christian,
I've gone to church,
worked at church camps
recited the creeds,
held hands during prayer,
I've been tolerant and pious,
I've tithed or not tithed,
I've researched other religions,
Seen the global perspective,
Marveled at how little I know,
Felt so small,
felt so big
but
never
have I
been
this in love.

"Cake and Eat" Anxiety Speak

A blog post I wrote about my heart before the beginning (November 2018) of all my self-work this year.

I present this as a measuring stick for the work I post hereon.

~_~_~_~

I am a Christian in my heart. I believe first and foremost in relationship, and believe in my heart that God as the holy trinity is the most perfect manifestation of relationship in the universe. That the holy spirit is always moving and is easy to ignore or misunderstand.

In my life, I so believe (whether I am right or not) I am responsible for understanding that Call. I 
should 
have time for writing and reflection. For reading and thoughtful media consumption. To be caught up on the news. To know the expert words for my job. Time to listen to myself, know what I want, and understand the world, to be torn by suffering, and work for justice, to live most rightly, fully, without regret.

I do not know if these kinds of things are best planned or experienced in routine, or with friends, or alone. My schedule gets filled up by "can you do this?" and "would you do that?" and "could we both go?" While I get swept away by such whims, I selfishly guard hours for empty space in my schedule. I believe I should use time for both studying and living, but it is a worried task to know which one should happen first. Empty space quickly becomes an exercise in filling empty space.

By studying, I mean being present with the quiet hours of reading the news, working on my blog or journal, more creative pursuits, and by living I mean being out with people, taking trips, finding experiences.

So here I am here writing because all I've thought this week at work are reasons why I'm living my life wrong and how writing out the reasons would make me realize how to live my life right. And while the week's living goes on, the writing has gone worriedly undone. I do not write during the week because it involves a screen, and I cannot work all day with a screen and write all night with a screen without being unhealthy. However, without that writing, I must be making wrong decisions all week, and will continue to make decisions that lead me deep into a life that I never intended to live.

I hope in my writing I can fix myself before I hurt somebody, or fill myself with regret.

I believe that there is every chance I will always be wrong in how I live. Even the most assured people have been wrong. Reflection becomes criticism and wears on trust in myself. I have stopped listening to myself as much, sometimes even at all.

...

The book Ecclesiastes was the first I ever took seriously from the bible. In it, The Teacher has lived a perfect life and still has not accomplished the satisfaction of heart he was always seeking. Here below, he talks about those hard-working fools who waste their time with work that will never amount to anything. He says:

They seldom reflect on the days of their life, because God keeps them occupied with gladness of heart.

I think, too, rightness is always and has always been within me, and my writing only serves to justify all my most convenient and evil behaviors. That's got to be at least a little bit true. So in the day when I have time to write, and all my words are wrong. I spent all week thinking that writing out my troubles would heal me and direct me, when it turns out there is more profound healing in watching trees blow in the wind. 

Again I say: Here I am writing and I firmly believe that I should be doing anything else. Be anywhere else. All of these words will be meaningless, and none of them will bring me answers. This article, it turns out, is a way to justify being afraid to go out into life. Experiences pass by like a river, untasted, unused, only to be wasted by the brine of the sea, and fill me with regret when the mountain springs run dry.

But I must also believe that writing, as a mode of expression, allows me to listen to myself. To notice unhealthy behaviors and beliefs that are festering under my skin. To speak my truth, rather than go unrecognized and to weigh on me until being let loose in less healthy ways! Whether I am able to mold a concise thesis from these words or not, I am able to catch a freeze-frame of my heart, and remove the bias of all my anxious in-the-moment-ness, and listen to myself as an outside person.

I remain afraid that chasing this "gladness of heart" by hiding from my writing will lead me away from who I intend to be. I'm afraid I won't know what I want. Routine will clog my most meaningful hours.

So when the sun is out and I have time to properly reflect, it kills me to waste such a beautiful day. Finally I have made time and space to hear myself out, to better understand if I should redirect my life, and when, but my words march in circles. Language takes laps around my eyes.

I resent the fact my verbiage is so lyrically redundant. Perhaps instead it is rhythmic like a chorus, but I still resent the time it takes me to speak real truth and art into my works (songs, poems, blog posts, and the like)

. . .

How woefully I find myself most able to speak when it is so late.

So I use these sentences to construct my own wisdom, to build a persona of the thoughtful and wise teacher to myself. I am arranging a logical argument that will guide my life away from waste and regret, and towards accomplishment, a rich and checked bucket list, and satisfaction that I did all I was ever capable of. But maybe it's a mistake.

All the while, I am ignoring the holy spirit. Or what the holy spirit is capable of. I know what I should do, what will guide me, and I use distractions to "recharge", to "build up energy" to be ready for when the spirit calls me. When already I believe there is rest in the holy spirit. That there is love of humanity in the holy spirit. That the holy spirit is always calling me to perfect living. It is already resolved. There must be all the incredible energy of the whole earth in that movement. I do not need to be rested, or accomplished, thoughtful, wise, loving, or anything. I just need to love the spirit and seek the kingdom of heaven on earth.

In my head, my heart, my day-to-day, I know there is so much I cannot understand, and I always fear that I will misunderstand and be ignorant of all the most hurtful tings. For this, I hate the ignorant for making such confident decisions that turn out to be wrong. The racist. Especially now, those taking stereotype and hearsay as truth. I want to know that I'm right in what little I understand, so that I know my decisions are made rightly. That I am a good person.

But I may never know, and still I must live.

Still I write in some mix of pride and scheming, in some hope that I will hear the spirit calling, offer some words to the reader who has been looking for them. So I bring that writing to a close. To rebalance my reflect-fullness with the day.

Perhaps, too, it is more important and wise to say less.