And in other news….

Grammar is totally kicking my ass today.  What a fussy bitch.

 

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I recently sent something that I wrote to my dad, one of those “one small step for Korey, one giant leap for Koreykind” moments.  In the attached email, I wrote this:

“It’s a work in progress: it’s a little more on-the-nose than I like, and it has tone and structure issues. I freely admit that I say that out of pride, so you don’t think that I think it’s perfect.  But, I guess, it’s perfect in this moment, because it’s all that exists of itself–and unspoken words can’t sit back and claim perfection, before they come into being.  Just like people.”  It came out without much thought, but when it did, it felt like a quiet revelation.

I’m learning to see this as real: that there is not just abstract truth in the idea that all things (including we people-things) are perfect in each moment, because they are all that truly exists of themselves.  And if we are part of god, god expressing, then we truly cannot be better than we are in the moment.  (Couldn’t be better, T!)  All the other stuff–the “possibility,” the “potential,” that just-right word or action or look or, or, or–those are the true abstractions, and are thus meaningless when assessing value in the present.

I’m still putting together the pieces of how I can strive for improvement while honoring this perfection in the moment.  I suspect it has to do with reframing the whole picture: that it’s more about finding ways to express more of myself, to know myself better and share that with others, rather than “improving” myself.

Pretty heady stuff for someone who has spent the better part of 40 years steeped in self-loathing.

I have a long way to go, a lot to learn.  But it’s nice to feel perfect while I’m doing it!  🙂

Here’s a poem I love

Revelation Must Be Terrible

Revelation must be
   terrible with no time left
to say goodbye.

Imagine that moment
   staring at the still waters
with only the brief tremor

of your body to say
   you are leaving everything
and everyone you know behind.

Being far from home is hard, but you know,
   at least we are exiled together.
When you open your eyes to the world

you are on your own for
   the first time. No one is
even interested in saving you now

and the world steps in
   to test the calm fluidity of your body
from moment to moment

as if it believed you could join
   its vibrant dance
of fire and calmness and final stillness.

As if you were meant to be exactly
   where you are, as if
like the dark branch of a desert river

you could flow on without a speck
   of guilt and everything
everywhere would still be just as it should be.

As if your place in the world mattered
   and the world could
neither speak nor hear the fullness of

its own bitter and beautiful cry
   without the deep well
of your body resonating in the echo.

Knowing that it takes only
   that one, terrible
word to make the circle complete,

revelation must be terrible
   knowing you can
never hide your voice again.

  — David Whyte
      from Fire in the Earth
      ©1992 Many Rivers Press

Here’s something cool: I am re-acquainting myself with Alanis Morissette, with her music and with her journey as an artist and human being.  Our life stories are of course very different, but I understand what she means when she speaks of her life-long quest for self knowledge and peace.  The more I read and hear of her, the more I admire and aspire to emulate.  Without descending into introjection, I find genuine value in learning from her, and of course find great joy in making some of her songs my own.

And the best thing of all, the best thing?  She’s this awesome, grounded, spiritual, creative, connected and connecting woman, and WATCHES CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM AND TRUE BLOOD AND ALL THE GOOD TV.

See?  We truly can have it all!

 

Before you go

Tamara-ji, beloved guide, my partner in this brief cataclysmic adventure:

No music, no movement, no concatenation of word and image can capture how you have elevated me.  I honor you, gentle soul, whose expansive heart and deft mind has helped illuminate my path.

I’ve learned this now: there are, scattered about this earth, safe and humble teachers, and we who pause to honor them only do what love and gratitude compels us to do.  Some show their love with service; while in this case intelligent propriety prevents me from doing the same, I would if I could–and I do, in the houses of my heart.

The things I would do:

Paint your house

Carry your water

Charge your phone

Wash your feet

Anoint your forehead

File your paperwork

Serve you a meal

Tie your shoe

Salt your food

Wash your car

Weed your garden

Fold every one of your lovely scarves

And buff those kick-ass boots.

 

And I would bless you with my heart and hand

As you leave our room, a benediction

So that all your days are filled with life

Your shadows sharp in endless light

And all your pain has purpose.

 

Whatever number marks my days in this life is made infinitesimal by the forever that holds you in my heart.  Thank you.  I love you.