Open Diary: Day One

September 12, 2010 at 10:19 pm (Uncategorized) (, , )

This piece is more than just a way to talk to Scin while I am out of town. It is a way to explore a particular form of writing that is memoir-like in style, mixing fact with literary elements. I am enjoying playing with this medium and hope you like it as well. 

It is 9-11 and that is not lost on me. It never is this time of year. But, the Gulf of Mexico is calm, people are few, and having a quiet beach to roam moves my mind to other things. 

I think of you. I think about the fact that we began this journey together nearly a year ago. And, I wish you were here. After all the months of short visits, long leavings, and the past couple of months finally in the same place, any leaving is hard. It seems wrong in some way to be anywhere trying to relax and enjoy things without you. It is what it is, however; and mom is clearly glad to be here. So, the mission of the trip is being met. Still, I miss you.

Last year while I was here, I wrote about learning to float. Really, I wrote about trust. This year, my mind is on all the many forms of trust.

I think of the trust between us. It still amazes me how I trust you so—trust you with my feelings; my affections; my deepest thoughts, fears, dreams, secrets. I trust you with my body in ways I have no other. I trust you with my life. I have trusted few. None so deeply as you. It takes a lot for me to trust, as you know. I spent my life trusting only myself, my instincts, my own learning and experience, my own abilities to cope and problem-solve, and a few carefully chosen, close people. I had to learn, by experience, to trust people again. This is how we all learn. I had to learn, by experience, to trust God. As you know, that trust grows, in many ways, each day. I know how hard trust is for you as well. The trust you bring me, I know, is not a thing you give easily. It is a gift. I cherish it. I recognize the largeness of it. And, I respect it.

Looking out at the vastness is that is the Gulf, it is natural for the mind to turn toward the smallness of our daily lives. The blessings we receive each day come to mind almost as a consolation of the difficult things—a kind of reminder that, even in the uncertainty, there is much that is given. Much that is good. Much that is better than good. I watch the sea after the sun has gone down. The water moves in shades of blackish-purple, grayish-pink, and deep indigo. A crescent moon hangs low and shimmers silver on the darkening water. 

As we have talked of faith, of the forces that shake it, the events and forces that revive and increase it, I think of the things we are taught. Our battle, we are told, is not with governments, principalities or people; it is with darker, unenlightened forces. I watch the changing water and ponder these things. We are like the water. We, too, can absorb and reflect both the light and the dark. These simply manifest differently in our solid bodies than they do in the water. In the water, the light is so clear, as is the lack of it as the sun goes down—clear, deepening blackness. Like the normal human doubt we feel when we are walking on shaking ground. We do not fully trust the ground to remain firm. At times doubt is good. It keeps us from becoming too comfortable or careless. But, if we are not careful, doubt can overwhelm us and become a state of being—a state of pessimism and lack of belief.

The things with which we struggle now, the uncertainty, the things we cannot see but which work on us, are like the sun behind passing clouds. They are temporary darkenings that seek to increase our normal doubt and uneasiness. Circumstances are simply the darkness trying to move us into the blackness where we cannot clearly see all the evidence that we are being cared for, that our needs are met, and that we live in a benevolent universe that responds to us. The difficult times are, indeed, the dark night removing the evidence of light from the water. But, the sun does rise. The light does return. And, we can carry the memory of the light within us, shine it outwards until it begins to shine as real as the sun. We can hold a torch into the darkness.

That light comes from the things we know. That we have been given much. That even in the difficult times, there is evidence every day of all we have been given. I look upon the moving water and know that this vastness teaches me much about the movement of the light and the darkness. I know that I need to continue to focus on what I can see, on all of the things that evidence I am being cared for—perhaps learning new lessons in preparation for something else—but being cared for nonetheless. I need to remember that there are things that are mine to do: that trying to be the best person I can be, trying to be responsible and accountable for my own thoughts, words and deeds, and seeking to do the next right thing, are mine. The rest is in hands larger and more capable than mine. It always has been. It is mine to remember that. In that, normative doubt and fear cannot become the lack of faith that brings about a deep undoing.

I am going in now. I will attempt to sleep. I will miss you as I have throughout this day. I will talk to you before we both retire in different beds, in different towns not unlike we did before. When we talk, I will remind you of my love for you, my trust in you and in us, and my trust that we are being cared for, that all will be well. I cannot help but think of all the ways that our journey together has already served to increase my overall faith. I am aware that as I grow in my own sense of self, I grow in my love for you and for us. There may be much I do not know. There may be much that is so uncertain the possible outcomes are out of the range of my sight. But, I do know this. I know from experience that when I am on the right path, obstacles are removed, things beyond my control are resolved, and the things I need come to pass—usually not in the form I envisioned, but they do come. We are part of all that comes to pass. We were brought together in a way that deserves consideration. I do know that this path is not only a good one, but the right one. And, I know there is no one I want to walk it with me but you.

In the morning, the sun will return. The water will be so clear, again, that I can see my feet pressing gently into the soft sandy floor. So, clearly that I can see the way in front of me.

NOTE:  This work is published here as proprietary and may not be reproduced, distributed, sold, or otherwise utilized outside the posting on this site without the express permission of the author; these works are the sole property of the author writing as Androgynonamous or DreadPirateRobert.

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2 Comments

  1. Scintillectual said,

    darling! Such deep thoughts! Don’t you know that vacations are for mindless pursuits? It is so like you to use this time for reflection and a deeper understanding of self. Meanwhile, I mope and wander aimlessly in your absence. It is no secret that I was feeling resentful—horribly, selfishly so—of this trip of yours. Feeling tied down by my child and by my financial circumstances. Jealous that I’ve not had a real vacation in more than 3 years. Aching for a week away from the daily grind that has been bumping up against me for so long now. And yes, angry that you are away from me after so many promises that there would be no more leavings.

    My more magnanimous self understands the trip—this time away for your mother, with your mother. How important it is. I also understand that you truly miss me. It just so happens that the day you leave this seemingly insurmountable disaster (because you know how I like to do the whole “my world is falling apart” thing) happens and you aren’t here to fix it for me. I’ve come to realize how much I rely on you to fix things. I forget how autonamous and self-reliant I had become in the time between D’s leaving and your arriving in my life. I forgot that I know how to take care of myself and that this isn’t permanent. It’s one short week out of the rest of our lives and there will be more leavings, of course. It is only healthy for two people in a relationship to have interests of their own, friends of their own, time away from each other that makes you appreciate the other that much more.

    I still miss you. My bed is lonely and I’m bereft. I’ve got a cold coming on and I’d like nothing more than to withdraw to my bed for the week and wake up when you return. But my motherly duties call and I’ve got this business to take care of. Knowing that you are still with me, even from so far away, gives me the strength to do what is in front of me and yes, leave the rest in stronger, more capable hands than mine.

    I persevere, and await your return. In the meantime, try to lighten up and feel the sand between your toes, the salty gulf air, the sunshine, the moon’s reflection upon the water. Sleep, eat, be merry…for before you know it, you’ll be back home and we shall pick up where we left off. I love you more than you know.

    Always and in all ways,
    Scin.

    • androgynonamous said,

      Sweetheart,
      I am glad you wrote this–took the time to put all your thoughts and feelings here. I am particularly glad that you addressed the issue of your strength and your ability to take care of yourself and handle things. I–sometimes more than you–know how strong you are, how capable you are, and how able you are to do things that you feel are larger than you can bear. You have done so many times. And, yes; it is good for couples to be apart, to have their own interests, friends and things to do without the other–we, really, do those things fairly well. I go do theatre electrics, lighting focuses, set load-ins and the occassional photo shoot with brother. You visit your folks–at least some–without me. I go to meetings. You go play with Terry, the two of you looking as you do like the classic straight couple…so funny in many ways. We share friends and common ground. We do the things apart that people need to do. And, still, I miss you.
      When we promised no more leavings, as you know, we were addressing the grander issue: no more being apart for longer than we are together, no more living across State lines. We are building a life and a family…and sometimes, one of us has to be away. I do hate that difficult things seem to arise when one of us is gone. But, all this only makes us stronger, deepens the connection. Learning to be present, supportive, and emotionally available when we are apart is a thing we have already mastered! Really, it seems apparent to me, there is very little that can shake us.
      I will enjoy myself as I do in this place. I still, however, miss you. I still wish we had been in a financial place where you could be here too. I know our time is coming. I know we will get on track and then nothing can stop that train. I know you need a vacation. You and I need one. And, you need one with the girls. Our time is coming sweetheart. I know it. In the meantime, I love you and miss you and think of you as I walk the beach, float in the gulf, and watch the sun go down, and down, until the water deepens into blackness.
      All my love, in all ways, always,
      Li

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