signs

pretty much every where you look there are signs. street signs, dominate our entire field of vision as we drive down the road. there are a whole group of them telling you just what you can and cannot do"turn here, no turn on red, left turn only, straight, no turns, u-turns prohibited, left turn yield" those are fairly cut and dry. then there are the whole group of sorts that don't tell you specifically how to drive, but inform you that if you should happen to want to end up at a certain destination you must follow them. "40 miles to rome, hospital up ahead, to amphitheater take second left" and of course "food, gas, lodging".

often people talk about life as a journey, and we're like imaginary cars moving along the highway of life traveling to our destination. some people even talk about how they have finally 'arrived' or others talk about how the journey is half the fun. personally i think i must have lost my map, or am traveling in a foreign country where i can't read the signs.

how many times have i done the ridiculous? the life journey equivalent of making a u-turn on a one way street, or speeding ahead passing signs screaming 'bridge out!'? none of my signs make sense. i envy those people who seem to have been clued into the legend of these maps, who can understand these signs. it's all Greek to me.

when i haven't understood what to do, or where to go even God hasn't intervened to help me make sense of it all. no burning bushes speak to me, no hands writing on my walls. sure i've met a lot of talking asses, but none that have offered any valuable directions.

i suppose this is where i'm suppose to accept the adage that 'you have to make your own way' in life. although i'm not sure i'm ready to wield a machete and go hacking through the wilderness to find my own way, not even really knowing where i'm headed; i do think that there has to be some letting go of tradition, we shouldn't always have to follow signs. we can go driving off the path, exploring places that haven't ever been traveled over before.

after all, in the end those of us who do make our own way will be able to say we took "the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

connections

there is a movie called 'the forgotten' with the tag line "You'll Never Forget The Ones You Love". the movie essentially deals with this idea that aliens are using us as guinea pigs and their particular experiment is to measure the connection between parents and children by basically snatching the kids and wiping the memories of the parents. then they observe whether or not there is something left behind, some sort of 'love residue' that is outside the mind, some connection beyond.

anyway, when i saw this movie a few years ago i really liked it. i liked the idea that there is something real behind what we call love, something more than just ephemeral emotions that wax and wane, something real, tangible, that can be weighed or measured somehow. maybe it's because i've always struggled with really understanding my own feelings most of the time. i'm really horrible at labeling them properly and i'm sure sometimes when i'm feeling something, if i asked i'd totally call it something else. so this idea, that there is something completely objective and concrete between people is extremely appealing to me.

for example, i have, at best, a mediocre relationship with my mom. she doesn't understand me, and i'm sure i look down on her a bit for being weak. not that i don't totally love her though, i do, so much and i would defend her if she needed it and would go to the ends of the earth for her. which is the weird part, we barely look like we even like eachother, but somehow there is this connection between us. at this point i should mention that i didn't grow up with her, my dad had custody and i only visited her. that said, it makes sense that we're not close, but begs the question, why would i fight off bears for her? most people just shrug and say 'cuz she's your mom, she gave birth to you and you owe her.' alright, well i suppose from a sociological standpoint that makes sense, most people in any culture believe that you should do anything for your mom. but beyond that, the love part. my mom and i have had a really rough road and i'd have to say she's in the top 5 of people who've caused me the most pain in my life. but maybe that's everyone. get close enough to one person and on a long enough time line they're eventually going to hurt you. anyway, i just find it interesting.

so that all said, back to the idea behind this movie. i do think that there is something there, clearly some otherly real connection that just having emotions about someone. but i have no clue what it is. i suppose if the aliens didn't figure it out then we probably won't either. but i probably won't stop thinking about it.

this whole idea, the premise of the film, has taken on a whole new meaning for me as an adoptive mom. i've basically realized that everyone i know is in one of two camps, 'your kids are your kids no matter how they got there' and 'oh, so you didn't actually make them?'. maybe those two aren't actually as clear as i'd like them to be, but essentially there are people who just whole heartedly accept that adopted children are equal heirs to love and this child-parent supernatural bond, and others who don't but probably wouldn't openly admit it.

i personally am in neither camp. i know cop out on my part. i do think there is something to be said for genetics, and physically growing a child within you. (sorry men, i haven't figured out how to address you yet.) but i also know that there is a whole super reality that happens when you adopt kids. i haven't given birth to any kids, so i don't know what that experience, or being pregnant, or looking into eyes like mine, or any of those things is like or if it changes anything anyway. i don't know if that makes a difference as to whether or not you have that supernatural connection.

i do know that the minute i saw my oldest daughter bounce into the room the first time i met her i knew i already loved her. following closely behind was my son, and one look into his eyes and i knew i'd never look away.

some people call it luck that my kids actually look like me, or so they say. they don't. people look for what they want to see. i have black hair, and so does my son, my daughters actually have lighter brown hair. my eyes are a weird hazel/brown and theirs are the color of mexican hot chocolate. they are after all hispanic, and have completely different features and color than me. but some how it makes other people feel better to pretend like they look close enough to me that i could have made them. like some how that means we can be closer, or some how feel more related. that's total crap by the way, after all, my mom has fair skin, blue eyes and blond hair.

so anyway, i think i might be rambling, but that's just what i was thinking about today. what difference it makes whether you make babies, or get them. there isn't a right or wrong answer, and i'm sure it's not the same for everyone. but i know for me, well, let's just say i'd fight off bears for my kids, go to the ends of the earth for them, and in general want to deck just about anybody who implies that i'm some how less of a mom because mine grew in my heart, not my belly.

rain

"when it rains it pours". i find it interesting that this expression has such a negative connotation. i love it when it rains, even better when it pours. it's so refreshing, each drop of water pulling particles of dirt out of the air. and after, the way the sky is so clear, and the world airing out like clothes on a line. the rains of winter washing away the stains of autumn.

paper weight

i'm the sort of person who loves words. not just because i like to talk and they're necessary either. i'm a person who's been misunderstood and had my words twisted and misconstrued to the nth degree on so many occasions, that i've made it sort of a personal semantic mission to understand words, what they mean, what they do not mean, the best way to use them, and when it would be better to use another. personally, i believe that if i know exactly what a word means and what it does not, it will, at least in my own mind, eliminate confusion when i'm able to use the word which applies to that, and only that, which i truly mean. i'd be plagiarizing to go on with my point further were i not to quote C.S. Lewis' excerpt from his novel "Till We Have Faces" since it most accurately describes my personal feelings on the subject of words.

"lightly men talk of saying what they mean. often when he was teaching me to write in Greek, the fox would say "child, to say the very thing you really mean, the whole of it, nothing more or less or other than what you really mean; that's the whole art and joy of words."... when the time comes to you at which you will be forced at last to utter the speech which has lain at the center of our soul for years, which you have, all that time, idiot-like, been saying over and over, you'll not talk about the joy of words. i saw well why the gods do not speak to us openly, nor let us answer. till that word can be dug out of us, why should they hear the babble that we think we mean? how can they meet us face to face till we have faces?"

for me, there is a power in words, that no matter how much a picture argues, will never-and could never-be equaled.

i personally am in awe when i think of creation, when i think of that moment when God in His omnipotence made a choice about which tool to use in creating the universe. He didn't choose to rain down lightning, he didn't smash his fists together like flint sending an explosion of sparks to become stars and shards the worlds. with all power available, in the end, he chose not to shake the fabric of time and space with his fist, but with a word.

his word calling out, so full of itself, so powerful that it demanded the creation of space to hold it, demanded the creation of time to sustain the echo. to all those who argue that a picture is worth a thousand words, i ask, what single picture could ever hold a candle to a word, just a solitary word, that so complete in meaning is capable of creating the universe?

all of that said. there are some words that have significant meaning to me, or rather, their meanings are extraordinarily significant to me. all too often, although they may be the most complete definition of what i truly mean, i still refrain from using them because i know that the meaning would be lost on the one i use the word with. sure they would probably understand part of what i meant, they might even know the general idea behind the word, but in the end, the full weight of the word's glory would be lost on them. so instead, i grudgingly use more and smaller words, ones with less potential for personal connotation that might lead them to think i'm saying something altogether other than what i mean. it's actually quite disheartening to have to use empty words to fill in the void left by a word better suited, but unfortunately better saved.

of particular importance to me is the word intimacy. for me it takes every definition Webster could come up with, takes investigation into the Latin and its origins, to fully encompass the word. only then, when i've reconciled the true meaning to the idea i truly mean, do i use it. there are quite a few meanings that really don't fully sum up the word. such as its usage when talking about 'intimate apparel', of course technically when talking about clothing worn next to the skin you could call it intimate. living room style coffee shops are also often referred to as intimate. in this same vein, even references to sexual intimacy can be just as misleading, when often the word is used but really all that is really meant is the fact that it's an event that is private and personal. so for me, to use that word in these ways is, in my estimation, the equivalent of using a Stradavarious violin as a paper weight.

i actually love the words intimate and intimacy when talking about its meaning that pertains to things which exist within the inmost parts of the mind, the character or intrinsic value of one's essential nature; it resonates within me when it's talking about actual union on this deep and elemental level, and the part of the definition regarding two people having the intimacy that arises from close personal connection or familiar experience. in this regard, an intimate friend may very well be that. someone with whom you share your innermost thoughts, and reveal your true nature, and go beyond the corporeal and be who you really are, stripped of pretense, completely without deception. to me, it is during these unveiled manifestations of our pure selves, and only during these, that sharing an experience, whether it be having sex or climbing a mountain, can truly and fully be called intimate. and it is at these times when the word intimacy, like the violin, ceases to be a paper weight and becomes the instrument of music that takes your breath away.

empty, save for me

i suppose it could be said that i'm a sentimental person. not so much about orthodox things, such as trinkets or favors, but about things such as smells or the way someone might look while gazing through rain streaked windows. i suppose it is the beauty in the relatively mundane that interests me. i find my self quite often just thinking about how something may look; the lonely way a cardigan might be sagging over the side of a chair, or possibly the last little bud on a peony bush that is about to bloom when all the rest have already had their day in the sun, and now droop toward the ground preparing to die.

the way in which i remember things is quite often with very precise detail. i remember the feel of wood underneath my toes as i climbed the book case to see out the window when i was 4. i remember the fading light in my grandparents sunroom that we spent so much time in during visits. i remember the specific smell of a crate of old books bought at a garage sale. it's about these sorts of things that i'm sentimental.

i remember walking through denver station a few years ago, it was deserted except for my friend and me, and i could see the light traced through the air on tiny particles of dust. this is one of my most sentimental affections, along with almost all empty places, they, in an odd way, possess a quality in their vancancy that is something magical .

although i love my family and friends, and spending time with them- investing time into them- and being a part of each other's lives is very rewarding, there is a part of me that will always yearn for the lonely solitude of empty places. maybe it's because i'm so keenly aware of exactly how empty it really is not. whether it's a deserted train station, obscure bookstore, or a secluded forest, there are always things to be seen. and for me, all too often, people just get in the way. although going about an expedition with someone has its place, where saftey is concerned for one, there are often times that you look for what you think that person wants to see, what they might be looking at or for, or possibly you're altogether enamored with them and see nothing but their face regardless.

when alone, there is no pretense, there is no expectation, there is no sharing. there isn't some sense of "oh i must tell them too look too!" or possibly, especially amongst children, "i saw it first!". each experience, new, old, or deja vu, is experienced in its purest form, solely within oneself, being weighed and measured without outside influence. a lichen covered rock can become a beautiful thing, it's own miracle, without the threat of someone else convincing you it's just 'a dirty rock'.

there is something very liberating about being alone, seeing things, the world, without peer pressure, and deciding for your self what you think of it. for me the opportunities for alone time within empty places are few and far between. it is not without a certain degree of sadness that i even think about them. wanting to go and see something, whether for the first time or other wise, and really see it. seeing it through my own eyes, untainted by having to share the experience with someone else.

the Greek word for "return" is nostos and algos means "suffering." so nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return. this is the only way to accurately describe my feeling for these places. i actually suffer in their abscense, and do yearn to go back. whether to explore a cave, a shack, or and old book. so when time allows, and my kids can afford, you will not find me here, for i will be off in a place empty, save for me.

heartstrings come undone

it never ceases to amaze me how life can change in a moment. i'm not even talking about huge life-altering events, like car accidents or a terminal diagnosis. there are those smaller moments, when we learn something, which may even seem quite trivial at first, is finally brought to light. only after closer examination do we realize that it's not just a blue piece of the sky, but the hinge on which the whole universe will now swing. swinging like a door revealing for once its other side. as if we're looking at a weaving, never understanding what each thread is for, never able to grasp the pattern, but realizing after the swing that the whole time we'd been looking at the underside. and now, for the first time, seeing the upper side, we see it and the universe in all it's glory, not as lightning bugs drowning in a black pool, but for the beautiful celestial expanse it really is.

i think when i sat down today to write this, i thought i'd be doing some piece on marriage. anyone who knows me very well knows that i love research. i'd never want to write a research paper again, but the searching and study part is like a good massage for my brain. so out of curiousity i spent some time looking up what philosophers and poets have had to say about marriage. knowing all the while that whatever it is i have to say, they've probably already said it, and even more likely, said it better than i could. you could fill libraries with the amount of books and words that have been written and said on marriage alone, and i'm sure somewhere there is a small bookstore that might just specialize on the topic.

of course i have my own thoughts on the subject, but first, some of the quotes i found were hysterically funny, yet so poignant. here's a few so they can speak for themselves:

When two people are under the influence of the most violent, most insane, most delusive, and most transient of passions, they are required to swear that they will remain in that excited, abnormal, and exhausting condition continuously until death do them part. ~G.B. Shaw, Getting Married, 1908

For two people in a marriage to live together day after day is unquestionably the one miracle the Vatican has overlooked. ~Bill Cosby, Love and Marriage

The marriage state, with or without the affection suitable to it, is the completest image of Heaven and Hell we are capable of receiving in this life. ~Richard Steele, The Spectator

In the early years, you fight because you don't understand each other. In the later years, you fight because you do. ~Joan Didion

Marriage is a wonderful invention: then again, so is a bicycle repair kit. ~Billy Connolly


alright, so that being said, my own thoughts:

beginning with a relationship, it can quite easily be compared to a dance. one in which both partners come together, and between them hold the ends of a rope. as the music plays, continuing throughout the relationship like a soundtrack with highs and lows, they dance. sometimes it's slow and controlled, other times wild and passionate. there will be times when it's much to fast, the steps too complicated, and one partner will have to warn the other that they might lose their grip. in consideration for the other, the one will work to make it manageable, to slow things down, to help the partner; they would, after all, rather accommodate, rather than send the partner flying off wildly, thus ending the dance. in a good relationship, this is the choice that is made, to take the dance in steps that keep it enjoyable, and allow them to hold on easily. because both of you dance knowing the other could choose to let go there is such a feeling of love, in this choice. knowing that each day your partner is making a choice for you, a choice to hold on, a choice to accommodate you because they want to keep dancing, and to keep dancing with you.

it's usually during this light cadence that the choice to get married is made. all this dancing, the spinning, twirling and loving, who wouldn't want to continue this forever? especially with this person who's held on, supporting you when you couldn't hold on, who made the choice to hold on tighter for you, who yielded when necessary, lead when called for, and knew all the while that you were choosing to hold on to and, therefore, never took your presence in the dance for granted. who wouldn't want this? to boldly claim this partner for life?

so together the choice is made, you'll marry.

and of course the chorus sings, and the music reaches beautiful heights, and on the wedding day the whole world stops. the dance is in slow motion, it's so easy that day. and you stand there together, in the location of your choosing and whether to a judge, pastor or priest, you hand over your rope temporarily. you say all of the beautiful things, make all the pretty promises and commit to dancing together forever. but before you're done, you get the rope back, but this time you will not be holding it, it will be tied to your arm. 'no matter' these new lovers say as they go off dancing. in the post nuptial bliss they're dancing so close they don't even notice the rope. their hand now free from holding it is this wonderful new experience.

the music commences and the dancing resumes. this couple, now tied together has a new element between them, same rope, same love, whole new dynamic.

they go dancing off into the sunset or some such nonsense and before you know it the music is playing it's highs and lows again. although this time much less consideration has to be given to each other, since after all, you're now tied together, and the threat of letting go is gone. at first this new security is amazing. does something wonderful for you and you can rest knowing that your partner will never leave you. however, when things begin to spin out of control, and the steps get too complicated, there is much less motivation to yield, to accommodate each other. after all, it's not like they might let go.

in really good marriages, and in the beginning of most others, there is still a small amount of control that is regained, some slowing and help given to each other since it is generally the habit you've established since the beginning. there can be times though, when one or the other doesn't view the dance as going as badly the other does, and might take advantage. again, falling on the fact that this rope is now tied, and the other can't just leave. they're not actually working to hinder the other person, there just isn't the fear anymore that it might be over if it doesn't settle down. usually there is a point there the knot is getting tight enough to cause discomfort, and decent people will recognise this and finally work to appease it. some people are natural moderators and continue to dance as if they're still just holding on.

now i'm speaking only out of my own experiences, for i know there are some amazing marriages out there where the dance remains beautiful and the weight of that rope is never felt and it's knot is never tightened.

for me, i've found that all too often i am the only one to yield. i'm the one who accommodates when things get out of control. however far it is from where i want to be, i'll move in to loosen the stranglehold of the knots. this rope which once was a symbol of love and the connection between us has now become a tourniquet. slowly, but with such force behind it, it's tightening the knot like a noose, and about to amputate my hand. i will not say that i've never been the one to give the rope a hard jerk, hoping to finally knock the other person over so i can finally get their attention. sure, several times. there is only so much one little arm can take before even i, the yielder, take action. the pain from these knots is bitter.

not that i want to lead while dancing, heck no, but i have to want to go in the direction the dance is going. and for me, i've realized, or admitted to myself much too late, that not only do i hate the dance i'm stuck in, but that the reason it's so bad is because generally we're not hearing the same music. there is no harmony, and dischord is reigning supreme.

i have always held out hope, beyond wild hope, that somehow the dance would slow, we could nurse our wounded arms and learn to dance again, but sadly, for me, i've had to cut the rope to save my arm. if i've learned anything in my experiences, it's been how wrong i can be and have been about the dance.

in light of this:
'love is patient, love is kind and is not jealous; love does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; it does not seek its own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. love never fails.'

i've come to realize that love is not the rope, love is the dance. the rope is only the commitment, you either choose to hold on, or you don't. no amount of knots, however far up your arm, can make you stay. tying the rope to your arm should only ever be symbolic and your hand should always be holding on. that way you'll know, and remember from experience, if you're about to lose your grip, it must be fixed, and never fall back on the knot as a saftey net. the knot will only make you lose your arm. the only knots that should ever be relied on are the heartstrings that get tied every time you choose to hold on.