A Quest for Joy

Several things clicked today, over the course of the day, that once were going to be three separate entries until I saw how they strung together. 

I have been on an ongoing course to rediscover what was lost, to rebuild what I have possibly missed, and discover my trajectory, but last night I saw a glimpse of what some larger part of my soul, story, and place in Gods plans are. It sounds grand, and on a personal level it is, but it is nothing like an exaltation, and more like a simple, but profound integration. I saw a spot in the garden where there was a hole just my size and shape. In the midst of the chaos, God showed me a safe spot into which I might slither a root, and know that it is where I have always meant to be grounded. It cast a shadow that was bigger than I currently am, but gave a sampling of who I am one day meant to be. 

And so I sat with this as best I could, for a time. I needed to sit in it... in it. For a while. It was good, but did not come without pressure, like being placed into a bath of very heavy water.

Then something else happened-- after I'd had a good morning with the children and various enthusiastic adults at the Sunday school, a phrase that seemed to appear offhand struck me, and stuck to me like a burr: "Don't just measure healing by the absence of pain." 

And I confess that, while I have asserted again and again that I am becoming happier in myself, and that I can do more than just survive alone, both of which are true, I have continued to wish for someone to save me from having to learn it. And I would be lying if I didn't say that, at times, I am not saved by various others who care and carry me in ways that they may never know. And yet, no hero comes. 

The third piece to this puzzle is a conversation I had with my minister, about something completely unrelated and more to do with church governance, but as I was starting to get upset over a situation, and what it means to be a leader, a sheepdog, or shepherd, he gently reminded me of what I have said so many times in the past to others, that "You cannot save people who do not want to be saved."

And at first my reaction, besides being disappointed, was to think of all the times in my life where I have reached and reached toward people I only wanted to save. People I looked up to, or had hoped could be more than they were in their chains, from the other side of their sorrows, where light still shone in my world of naivete. People who, at times, should have been protecting me instead. People who saw me suffering and instead of being emboldened, only dug deeper into their pain over the guilt of it. And people I loved very much, and never wanted to discard. But how hard it is for people to really admit when they don't want anything to change or get better, because the facade of trying is easier to maintain than mustering the strength it takes to look in the mirror, let alone make changes... and yet every time, I am fooled. And even today I must ask myself, am I doing it still? 

And yet here I am... possibly doing the same thing to myself. Again the narrative threatens-- "if you were just smart enough, if you were just strong enough, if you just loved enough, then you wouldn't feel the way you do, just like they wouldn't have felt the way they did, if you had just been better." But I know enough now... I see enough now, of others who do and have done the same, and I see my own folly. 

Over the course of my adult life I have had to face many demons, one dragon, and more than a couple of my own, but for today's purposes namely: the fear of abandonment, and low self-worth. One I soothed by letting everything go, and the other I simply did not. But I kept striving because something in me said that if I did, there was something on the other side of my struggles that was going to dispel them.

But when I serenade myself with the idea that any of the yearnings of my soul can be sated by anything of this world, I have only ever been mistaken... and also not. Because we may only ever find true fulfilment in God, but as we have been chatting about with the idea of embodiment, and how in this world we have human needs, gifts, experiences, and the like, I think I have been struggling against myself in order to try to let things fall away for the sake of my relationship with God, but it should have just been in order to recalibrate and regroup, and rebuild... But this is going to require an enormous vulnerability.

And I'm not saying this because I feel like I've accidentally passed a threshold-- I think I'm actually at the correct one. The threshold that says, "ok, now it's time for you to try experiencing joy again." This is something I wrote about a few years ago, when the emotion seemed to be totally new to me. I felt like I suddenly was born again to live in the very moment I was alive. I felt lifted, and full to overflowing. Every colour, every sound, every day was its own wonder. But the source, on a human level, was taken away. And I told myself that everything was transient, and that it was better to have caught a glimpse of that feeling, to find it again elsewhere, knowing I was in fact capable, but that was not how I have been acting. I have been working in every angle of my life to optimise, sustain, and reach into every safe place of my being, while leaving this one aside, because it hurts too much. 

Transience is so hard that I handled it by not allowing myself to hope further in certain areas, while doting on others to compensate. And as a result, what was once a source of light in my life became a source of darkness. A pillar in the fog, creating a dark streak in an otherwise warm light. A streak that carries forward no further and exists only in retrospect or fantasy of what could instead be filling such a darkness, but is no longer within my reach... But even as I have allowed myself to dream, I have closed my mouth to food and drink for fear that I might experience a smell, a lick, or otherwise only enough to have my current emaciation highlighted rather than feel anything like satiation. 

But I cannot do this to myself. I cannot be what I have begged others not to be, or die inside of myself as I have seen others die. I have to let go of the image of what I do not have, and the projections of what I feel joy must look like, or else.

And it should be easy, right? Because so many things bring me joy. So many little things that I notice, but matter. 

So... what do I hope for? What could be ahead of me, if I allowed myself to see it?

I want... 

I want to know safety as well as inspiration, 

To create, to commune, to be a vessel of only good in this world. 

I want to be able to have deep relationships with people without fear, shame, or masks.

I want to love and be loved openly, to feel wanted, and know those I love are safe and happy.

I hope for a world where people can find their belonging in healthy places, and know they are not alone in their difficult times, so much so that their own strength can overflow into each other to make this even more of a reality.

A world that is balanced in vulnerability and holy structure. With values and ideals that help us aspire to be more than we are, and celebrate victories together. ...

...

This list feels so incomplete... I will have to refine it, and return. I have work and a bus trip this evening to mull it over further. My heart is open now, at least. Who knows what else might spill out. 

And then, once joy is there, will I be able to feel it?