Our house burned down early Monday morning.
There, I’ve said it. It seems to me tho that this kind of statement should carry some kind of emotional weight, but in fact, so bereft of feeling were Nawo and I that we had to actually go out to Bassendean to look at the place, to try and get some kind of impact. Nada.
I suppose it’s a bit over the top, a little sensational to say, “Our house burned down,” because although it’s a true statement, it was not at all our home. We bought it a few years ago, as an investment and had been renting it to this guy named John, who over the course of his tenancy seemed to describe some kind of personal downward arc, till he reached the point of appearing on our radar as delinquent in his rent.
Even when that occurred we weren’t fazed in the slightest. Our prevailing feeling was in the order of, “What kind of things must someone be going thru in their life in order to reach this level, whereby they voluntarily abrogate such a basal responsibility?” I guess we felt sympathy, and that felt kind of good, I guess.
We weren’t perturbed about the money, nor about the fact that this guy was basically squatting on ‘our’ property. Weird that we should feel this way, I think. Weird that this should be all. My curiosity is stirred about why this isn’t a momentous occurrence, given especially the fact that we weren’t insured and this will involve considerable expense in the cleanup, I surmise. Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet?
Talking to neighbors Dee and Di, both seemed to think that John himself may’ve been the one who torched the place, but rather than infuriating me it merely makes me even more curious as to what could be going on in the guy’s life. A kind of impersonal paternalistic, almost caring about the guy. Go figure.
The most salient feeling about the whole thing is my almost absolute impartiality about it. Go figure.
I’m surrounded by ugliness. Not that there’s little or no beauty, quite the contrary. I’m almost swamped by it. I’m also aware of the maxim that for beauty to be experienced one must know ugly, but nevertheless it amazes me that people would voluntarily tank up on ugly.
One person who fascinates me in this regard is Mepo. To look at and talk to her is to bathe in a kind of beauty that demonstrates what can be done with a handful of less than optimal cards. How can I express this without it sounding negative?
I’m talking about aesthetics, I suppose. It seems gauche and not a little judgmental to write these things, but I’m honestly trying to explore something-I-know-no-what exactly, and further feel moved to do it this way.
To put her under a microscope would be to destroy the creation she has obviously spent a lifetime honing. Chunky and blessed with her father’s rude appearance, she has nevertheless taken these raw materials and primped, preened, dressed, sculpted and built this incredibly attractive façade (and I do not mean this in any shallow or pejorative sense of the word here!) whereby when she moves and talks she exudes this whirlwind of pure, refined beauty. She’s attractive, sexy, funny, smart and confident to the extent that I cannot imagine a man who would look at her and not find her as I do: beautiful.
I want to talk.
It seems that you are.
I know, but I feel myself to be dancing around some unseen mental, spiritual, psychic, whatever kind of black hole here, trying to get closer to you, yet gravitating towards something that I cannot see, feel, touch.
Can you see the air? Do you then doubt its existence because if it?
No, while I cannot see the air, I can nevertheless see plain evidence of its existence, in its touch on my skin, the movement of trees and hair.
Extrapolate from this then.
I’m demonstrating a decided lack of faith here, aren’t I?
You want to believe, but are concerned that it be misplaced.
I see the monument of faith, the creative work of Neale Donald Walsche, the website that brings the readers of his (and your!) work together into a virtual community. It’s beautiful in a way, yet it fills me with a kind of suspicion. I guess I doubt him, but that’s really weird because I love his work. I love what he has given to me and yet I’m feeling the same suspicions that those to whom Greeks come bearing gifts feel a little uneasy.
Money?
Yes. Looked at one way, Neale has demonstrated his faith by girding his loins and putting his very life on the line to externalise his experience of communion with you. He has thrown his ‘body’ forward and trusted that a pair of legs would come to the party and start walking – rather than just falling flat on his face. I love that!
So, where is your faith, then, Bii-man?
I see what I’m doing at LSHS and I hate it.
Those are strong words.
OK, it scares me. You’ve seen how much fear I have on my way to work in the mornings. I don’t like feeling fear.
You know where this is going. What is fear?
Misplaced love?
Of what are you afraid?
…Of caring? I don’t know. I really can’t say that I care about these kids, or even my colleagues, but I do want them all to understand….
What?
I don’t know! Maybe I do care and that fills me with fear because I don’t feel any reciprocity.
If you give someone a gift, is it important what they do with it? If such strings be attached, can you say that you’ve actually even really given it? You happened to read Neale’s message yesterday about this very subject. Was that a coincidence? You’re already saying “No,” even as I ask the question. I ask you this: How does what you are doing at LSHS serve you?
I wanted the job for a couple of reasons: to give me hands-on for our curriculum development project. That was the biggest thing…but maybe not.
Yes?
I was feeling fear about financial security, about having some visible means of support – especially with all the shit going on in the world…
More fear?
Yes.
SO would it be fair to say that you are in the situation you’re in now because of fear?
In a very large sense, yes, YES!
What you discussed with Nawo yesterday, about making some new job for yourself. Isn’t that a much more attractive, proactive kind of solution for the fear that ails you?
Of course. A modicum of faith would be of incredible service right now.
Where does faith come from?
Shouldn’t I be asking you that?
So ask.
Ok, consider yourself asked.
Faith comes from the understanding that nothing can ever go “wrong,” because everything is intrinsically “right.” …Why are you trying here? Why are you trying to put the “right” words into my mouth? You are here mimicking faith, by trying to have this conversation with a God you aren’t sure at all about. You haven’t yet let go and just allowed it all to happen, have you?
No, I haven’t. I’m the one writing all of this, aren’t I?
Do you believe that’s what Neale is doing?
...yes, but…
But?
But the things that came out in his writing are incredible!
Don’t you think that maybe he taught himself to somehow let go and roll with the flow?
If only I could do that!
Look how fast all of this is flowing out of you! Why stop to pause and think about what God would say if you were actually having a conversation with him, when all you have to do is to let go and actually just do it!
God give me the strength, the faith to do exactly that! …Rabr's here. Stay with me!
Always.
No comments:
Post a Comment