Wednesday, July 3, 2013
These past several days have become a blur of reflection and action. The weekend, as folks call it, seemed to fill and flow with the ugliest of memories, the memories so deeply buried beneath the shadows that they are almost forgotten. And I'll tell ya, I don't care what anybody says, these menacing places-n-spaces are the mines of Love Most Infinite. These are the places-n-spaces that are most challenging to face candidly, and yet when faced with conscious awareness and with the un-judging eye of The Witness, they yield forgiveness, compassion, grace, the essence of humanity with all its flawed perfection … it yields what Love is made of.
And that sentence needed to end in a preposition.
Monday coalesced with the confirmation of the date for Little Rita's Memorial Mass. This was followed by hours of phone calls and various plans and decisions and assorted activities of contemporary convention as well as personal need. More came together yesterday and again today, and I can feel this chapter preparing for closure.
As my dear friend Kate said to me on the first day of July, "I hate doin' grown-up shit …" and I laughed. I laughed because we're both, from my view, very adept at the "grown-up shit" when we need to be, and equally skilled in pure play and assorted merrymaking.
And I'm juicy-ripe for some play and merrymaking. Alas, the time is not ripe for me … yet. But I can feel it coming in the next chapter. And I look forward to it.
So, I suppose, my life in this moment (and in the coming days) is akin to a dangling preposition, complete in the moment, making sense, acceptable to many, yet feeling a need for refining.
Had to do that, too, just for the merrymaking factor, such as it is.
Yeah. OK. I'll sit with that and see what I can do to manifest refinement in the chapters ahead.
PS I read what I've written and I'm sensing that the next chapter shall be rich in rest. Yeah. Refinement after rest. I can dig it.