Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius, and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring. - Marilyn
Monroe

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

defining glory



Here I am...defining glory. Or, at least doing my best to. Where I am, well that's more of an unsolved mystery. It may even be the charade of the century - a puzzle I strive to unriddle each day. If I could just defeat the sly joker who frolics with delight in my head, if I could just catch him in his tracks, then reaped would be the answers to my two most concerning questions: Where am I? Who am I?


I feel like I'm everywhere doing everything. I feel like I'm morphing into everyone in some way or another too, everyone I've ever loved, and all my feelings have lead me to believe that such traits, such instincts, are a beautiful thing - to understand other people, to walk in their shoes, to expand in all places and spread like butter - to melt like ice. I melt looking back at the affairs of the heart. I simmer like sauce in a cooking pan as I extract sensations from all my old memories. I get lost in a daze. My body starts to feel funny - sensitive. Sometimes I just laugh it off. Laughter is the quickest route to my heart, so I chuckle away the tears before they can find me in a sudden state of unwanted sadness. I sigh and often I dwell on what's gone for much too long. The clock strikes again and time kisses me goodbye as I sit somewhere langorously frozen in all my days of yore. A prayer's warmth evades me as I turn cold toward tomorrow and deflect my future by reflecting on my past. And while gazing forward with resistance and goosebumps caused by an inward winter tide, I ponder on all my "plans" and I ponder on God. Where is God? And, who is God? Those are my other two front-page questions. I muse on his holiness as I plead with an angel in poetry...


Familiarity gives me great comfort, 
but comfort makes me weak
So, I pray and I pray for the power to make a quantum leap. 
Whether frozen like sleet 
or softly kindled like a flame,
 I pray for the strength to carry on in God's name.


I do look forward to tomorrow. To carry on is attractive to me, despite my sweet tooth for what's over and done with, and I give thanks to all of my human experiences, the "good" and the "bad". Gratitude and reverence give me a reason to fully believe in today in all its charm. In all its glory.

Today is glorious Tuesday, and seeing as though the weeks are now moving at the speed of light, tomorrow will be glorious Sunday. There really aren't nearly enough hours in the day, it's true, and it's almost as though I've adopted this popular theory, this pretty accurate supposition, as an excuse to do less. It's nice too, doing less. Anyways, less is more. At least that's what they say, so while I do less I observe my receptiveness and sensitivity toward others. It's ample. I give a sh**. I always have, I think to myself as I sit comfortably at a cluttered, but very tidy desk. And, while lost in an epic translation, a mythic contemplation with an ambiguous resolve, I become even more observant. I take a closer look at my desk. I'm an immaculately unorganized person if that makes any sense. I can't ever bring myself to make a real mess. Real messes are just too hard to clean up after, and often times, they're just too much to bare, so says my emotions. By that, I mean I've needed therapy, community, a lot of strength, and a lot of God to survive them. The real clutter hurts. It shocks the system and makes me question my every ounce of faith. I get lost, disappointed and completely confused by all the real messes. But...I've also been very happy and fulfilled amidst a stingy disarray. I've even marveled in amazement at the travesties that make me "crazy". Why? Because, theses "curve balls", these sudden jolts, theses whammies and these disillusions are actually godsends...when I go deeper. Real messes are miracles. They're the miracles I never saw coming, and I'm  reminded to clean out the clutter in me. So, I clean and I clean and I clean....and I clean some more.

On that note, I'm a huge neat freak. Emphasis on the freak. I'd hate to just be neat. How boring. I have a high regard for neat freaks too. There's just something about organization that inspires me. I also love super freaks. Whatever the hell they are. Maybe I just love the idea of super freaks. Control freaks, on the other hand, not so much. My belief system regarding this type of freak has willfully and rightfully modified itself. I've made some much needed adjustments in my thinking regarding control. I'm a bit of a recovering control freak myself. I'm recovering from all the damage this particular character flaw has caused. And you know what they say, like attracts like. Or, is it opposites attract? They say both. Either way, control freaks occupy this world, and they do it in high quantities. Needless to say, I've been influenced by them, and I've also been the influencee. So in a way, I guess control and all its damage done is the inevitable, but the inevitable is repairable.

And in my process of repairing and restoring, I've had to questioned the proper use of control. I've tried to define its real meaning too, though I've been lead astray in my attempt. And while roaming aimlessly, I've somehow meandered back to the beginning of time. Control is as old as the universe. And though I've misunderstood and suffered confusion regarding the nature of this infamous beast, I believe that its ambiguity has the power to construe a very mysterious and holy significance. And after years and years of examining the weight of my own incisive consciousness, I feel as though a sacrament of some non-religious sort has transpired in me, a truth per say - the truth about letting go.

And, amid my efforts to trust in the Light by letting go and letting God, I feel I've sacrificed balance and good judgments more than once or twice. Thus, I keep asking myself these questions...Am I really in control? Have I lost control? Was I ever even in control? What the hell is control? Hmmm.

As I continue to sit at my disheveled, but organized desk I meditate. I contemplate control and the definition of "taking control" - "gaining control". Giving up control. Control, it's one single word, and yet it's an entire language, a language quite foreign to me on many a day. To comprehend the proper use and the real meaning, to me, would be to acquire the greatest wisdom ever obtained, wisdom that only questions can conceive. They're the questions with the answers that will shape my entire life... When do I take control? When do I surrender?  

I flirt with a mental frenzy while still plumped on my butt in my over-sized office chair (which I LOVE). My davenport mayhem, once a work space and now a sacred place, has shifted in its appeal. Everything looks different now. I felt the need to write because I haven't written in months! But, now I feel the need to pray and to just sit here. I notice my feet, they're cold, but my body is warm again. I feel temperate and grateful, thankful for all that I have - the gifts, the support, the ease, the shelter. I realize that I already have all that I need and relief crashes into me like a wave of peace in an ocean of mercy and love.

Still seated, but now more tranquil than before, I glance at the calender pinned to the busy wall that faces me. It's nearly December, and the day is moderately cold. I actually cranked on the heater just moments ago. Now I'm all sweaty and the sun, as always, is in a hurry to rise causing my short-lived winter thrill to scatter. Hello Los Angeles. Hello life. Come this evening, another moon will be at it's funky roundest, and when the giant night light in the sky is at its fullest everything gets weird, or weirder I should say. A black hazy sky + big round moon = weird. That equation never seizes to fail.

Or, maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm just weird. Maybe I'm just a beautiful weirdo living in a beautiful weird, material world. Sorry moon. I keep blaming everything on you, you and all the weirdos who hurt me. But, I'm letting it go. I like the sound of surrender. What a beautiful voice she carries.

Surrender sings to me as I take responsibility for all the real messes I've made and have had to survive. I'm defining the glory that is mine by defining control. What is it exactly? I do know one thing. With or without the moon, we're all big weirdos.



Big beautiful weirdos....on a good day.





No comments:

Post a Comment