"hahaha" - Life
I was talking with a friend a few days ago; one of those precious friends that no matter how long it is between seeing each other, you pick right up again and dive into soul ponderings and somehow find that you are on the same page. We discovered that 2014, a year on its way out, had really been one of (if not exclusively) the toughest year on our personal records. She shared some hard things that I had missed because of my own life dealings the past two years. Though it had been a while since we had been able to really reconnect, and even though our stories are different, we share a common thread in many ways. We both had been shaken, hard—and honestly, broken. We both realized that in hard times before this there had always been a silver lining; or at least, hope—in spite of it all. But something happened.
Whether it was a explicit event, or a
mudslide combination of many experiences, something deeply changed. The world
went from being something that was fundamentally good where bad things
sometimes happen—to being fundamentally bad where good things sometimes happen. My intuition had never been so wrong.
I have never felt this way before. This shift was unwanted, unwarranted. It
just happened, like part two of what happened to me late in college: after 20+
years of understanding the universe in one such way, I slowly realized that
something had derailed in me: that some fundamental things didn’t make sense
anymore. I’m going to pull an excerpt from a piece I wrote for a college
publication a few years ago, as it describes very well how I felt then:
It’s like a tower of building blocks
that we inherit as children; they form a foundation for our understanding of
the world. They describe God, Jesus, this little light of mine. They are
comforting, they make sense. And I have turned my gaze back to mine only to
find they have sort of crumbled to indistinguishable rubble, and there’s some
weird dirty animal making a mess of it.
...
There isn’t a specific moment when it
happened, when I decided to be where I am now in terms of religion and faith;
God or god or the Light or whatever she/he happens to be, if she/he happens to
be. It happened over time, which you might think would hurt less—and maybe
that’s true. It was a slow and sad realization; as doubts started creeping in,
as I grew up, as people I love died. I started feeling uncomfortable sitting in
church. I asked questions. I started reading existentialist philosophy (I know,
it’s trite). I was trying to look at the world through different lenses than
the ones I had inherited. It’s not like reading these things and thinking these
thoughts suddenly made me cease to care about God. Quite the opposite. I
suddenly found that I cared very much. I cared who this God was, and deeply
questioned what I had been told and what I had believed; things were starting
to not add up. It wasn’t a fanatical break. In fact, I tried to hold on, for so
long. It was slipping away.”
The foundation upon which I had rested all
questions, crises, problems and qualms—was crumbled, dismantled. But even then,
I was hopeful: though I did not know where the hope was coming from, I believed
in a higher love. I believed that the world would eventually right itself
through my yearning. Beauty and Forgiveness and Love would be revealed as the
first and the last. Even while inside my deepest soul darkness, in time I made
my way out, in some manner. Deep down somewhere in my gut, I knew that there was
something greater that I was seeking. My wonder and doubts were seeking a
higher, or perhaps better described as a more central, essential—beauty and
truth and Love. Even if I was unable to hold it within myself. But something
changed this year.
With death having been so close and losing
myself in so many ways, with family roles shifting through trauma, with
abandonment close and far, with so many things that evade words... something
happened. I had to leave the job I just started because my body is still too
fragile. I watched my expectations for 2014 disintegrate over and over again
before my eyes. I felt so much loss. After a long time of trying to just survive
it all, I turned around to the foundation that I had been slowly trying to
build again over the last four years, only to find that the dirty gremlin was
back, breaking even the basic blocks apart, crushing them to dust. In
philosophical terms, this is a major disruption of my metaphysics. In layman
terms, this ruined my life, again, but worse this time. I didn’t think I could
be this wrecked. I never thought anything would truly break me.
I lay in that for a while. It was all I could
do. I felt the weakest I have ever felt—psychologically, emotionally,
physically. The trifecta of complete powerlessness. I felt the lowest and
darkest I have ever imagined. It is beyond words to describe. I felt so far
away from everything I had ever believed about myself, who I was, what meaning
was. My fabric was torn: not just along the seams, but the integrity of the
fabric was dissolved. I lived in the darkness, and I didn’t know how to begin to
move out of it. The darkness over there is the same darkness as here. I felt no
strength in me to start crawling to re-build. There was no veil between me and
thoughts of death. I didn’t move. And it lingered.
I had very hard nights: whether the pain from
my body or from my mind, or both. Chemo and GvHD destroyed my tear ducts so I
cried without tears. I wanted to die. Life often seemed no more important than
death. My mother was there for me, through most of them. She held me. She persisted,
longer than anyone else, more than anyone else. She told me: when you are in
that place, just remember that I need you. If nothing else can keep you alive,
I need you.
With no real direction, I did what I could:
each thing a tiny, seemingly inconsequential step. I started moving, even if it
was all in the dark—call it fate or destiny; I don’t know that I believe in
these things. But things over the past months have come to pass in such a
way that it makes me believe that true good things do happen. A few months ago,
a close friend visited me and brought with her a zine and ideas of self-care.
We talked a lot, and I read the zine for weeks after she left. It inspired me
in many ways. The title of this little publication is “The Worth of Water”
based upon the quote: “We never know the worth of water until the well runs
dry.” This changed me, somehow. I know that I am very affected by what and who
is around me, and so I deduced that I had to actively place good things and
people around me, in hope that they will influence me for the positive and lead
me on a journey back to Love. I tried very hard. Self-care became the lens in which I started to
re-interpret the world; a little building block. The truth is that
sometimes we run out of water. We just...run out. And that’s when we learn:
water is vital. The natural next question is then: What is water? It turns out,
water is the perfect motif: it is life-giving, cleansing, reflecting, revealing.
It dissolves and moves through hard things, it flows over sharp edges and
softens them, it efficiently moves through multiple states of matter in a
never-ending natural cycle. Water is basically the shit.
Then another dear friend visited me, and he
brought his own story of recent hardship; but he was able to share with me
somewhat his pathway out of that darkness. I was very interested in hearing how
he saw the world, and we talked about finding happiness—or at least, finding
things that make you happy; things that make you believe in something greater
and more beautiful than suffering and self-pity. We visited Walden Pond, which
was a reminder (a gentle but firm slap in the face) that things endure beyond
our bodies, and beyond our minds. The earth regenerates, trees grow, water
reflects the sky. I’ll live on this planet for 80 some-odd years, if I’m lucky. Trees are older, and will outlast me. In a great absurdity, this water is simultaneously
extremely old and also brand new. Here are the exact same molecules that lived
in and nourished a fish 100 years ago, and yet they also just now condensed
from a gaseous form and rained from the sky. There’s nothing like nature to
remind you that you are a part of a system (divinely guided or not, I withhold
conclusion). I can relax about all this heavy stuff for a moment. The calm of the place was comforting, the freshness of new oxygen
leaving leaves mixed with the heaviness of being so deeply old. In that moment
it didn’t matter if I had ultimate meaning for my tiny self; I was a presence
in the world; alive to breathe that oxygen, and to then add moisture back into
to the air from my lungs. And we just walked plainly through the woods,
commenting on the tree moss and the colors in the water. I feel that I am
learning to truly understand what it means to live deliberately, like Thoreau
writes: “to
live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and
Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and
shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”
In the weeks following up until now, I have
found that self-care is many things: choosing joy being one. But sometimes you
can’t even do that. So I started even simpler: making tea, watching You’ve Got
Mail, sleeping when and how long I needed to, reading easy books, trying to eat
healthy food to fuel my body. Talking about my thoughts to someone. Calling a
friend, making cookies, re-discovering poems and listening to music that used
to make me believe in something beautiful. Simple and stupid things. I thought: if there is nothing else
I can rest upon, I have to start with these small visceral tasks. I am learning how to breathe;
which is probably the most corny thing I've ever written and not
immediately deleted. But I'm serious. Stop. Take a deep breath, right
now. You feel different. It manually relaxes your muscles. When
you don't know what to do about anything else, baseline stuff will have to do. I keep catching myself these days, realizing that I've been
breathing shallowly, teaspoon by teaspoon of air. And I say to myself:
Take a deep breath, right now.
And then another person came into my life. He
has challenged me to root out my true motivations, my true thoughts and
feelings, my basic desires for life, and then to communicate and follow that as
honestly as possible. It has transformed me again. I see myself in a movement
forward.
The things I find to be true in this life are
mostly absurd. I can’t explain to you exactly why the story of a rebellious Jesus
still brings me to tears. Or why Pedro the Lion’s Be Thou My Vision stirs in my
stomach. Or how water is both new and old. I can’t explain why the radical
notion of Love in all instances resonates true for me. I don’t even know if I could
actually stand and act by that notion. Truly horrible things happen, and people
choose to do bad things. I don’t know. I have to believe that every human has
the capacity for both good and bad; and each has the capacity for Love. Maybe
some people give it away. And I don’t know what to do in that instance. I do
know that Love looks different in each circumstance, and know I do not
understand them all. And yet it is persists in me, it is what I feel to be true.
The unattainable goal: altruistic Love. Absurdity. Human beings are appendages
of an earthly cycle, and are each intrinsically surprising and unique. Paradox.
“Remember that there is meaning beyond absurdity...” A.J. Heschel
Love is like water, I think. So I must learn
to be like water: gentle when it needs to be gentle, and a surging flood when
it needs to be a surging flood. Be life-giving, nourishing—lift up the heads of
people flowers and strengthen people leaves. Clarify, reflect and reveal true
things. Dissolve hardened hearts, smooth over sharp bitterness. Sinuously adapt
to every situation: be solid when it is cold, liquid when it is warm, and gas
when it is hot, and everything in between; don’t worry about change. Water
never fears to run out of itself, it is not self-conscious, it has no thought
to conserve its energy for some later time when it feels safe. It does not dam
itself; it only breaks barriers. It’s absurd that water falling on a mountain
makes its way like little fingers through the rock and sand all the way to the
water table below the earth. And that is what I want to believe about Love. It
is not without effort, rather it is full of pure energy that vibrates back to
the beginning of time. It finds the sacred in the mundane. It takes the
knowledge of everything that’s happened, and continues in the same resurrection
cycle. It is not afraid to expend the energy needed to get where it wants to
go. I want to believe in this kind of world again; where there is enough Love;
that I don’t need to hold any inside myself for safe-keeping. Give it away, the
cup runs over. I hope for even when the lights are out and I can’t see it, that
it is there anyway. And when you can’t see anything at all, start small. Take a
deep breath, right now.
2015, I have hopes for you. I have dreams, smiles, tears, whispers, laughs and screams for you. I think we will change each other. I will take what you have to give. And I will give you my all.
"What a marvelous cooperative arrangement - plants and animals inhaling each other's exhalations, a kind of planet-wide mutual mouth-to-stoma resuscitation, the entire elegant cycle powered by a star 150 million kilometers away."
Carl Sagan
“Being human is a surprise, not a forgone
conclusion. ... One thing that sets man apart from animals is a boundless,
unpredictable capacity for the development of an inner universe. ... Indeed,
the enigma of human being is not in what he is but in what he is able to be.”
A.J. Heschel
“the potato said from underground: ‘you’ve
got it all turned upside down!’”
mewithoutYou
let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Rilke
