Monday, February 12, 2018
This has been a season of loss and reconstruction. If ever I believed the delusion that I am solid ground, this last year or two has successfully exposed that as a lie. I suppose the the writing tells us we are dust and ashes, which is to say: flimsy and floaty bits and particles of lives gone by gathered and held together for only a very little while by the animating principle which is the Holy Breath of GOD. So it really should not surprise me to see how easily big things come apart. Big things for me being an ideal of American Democracy, and gender equality, and human rights, and the goodness of the Church.
If I am made of space and dust, am I truly all that disturbed to see that mere dreams like faith and equality can dissolve so completely into mist? Is it actually a surprise that American Democracy is so skewed we actually elected Donald Trump to the Presidency? If it, like me, is a thing made up primarily of emptiness, no wonder it has moved so far from where I thought I left it anchored, or even more likely, that it never really existed at all.
I have actually been shocked to discover that white supremacy (of the neo-nazi, ku kux klan variety) is such an integral part of my community; that it isn’t buried as deep in us as our compassion is. It has been terrible to suddenly see it in family, neighbors and pew friends, such that they have become enemies I can’t bring myself to even recognize anymore. How can you possibly say that? I wonder, and stand silent with my jaw hanging low.
Yet, all these people I love and trust told me it was so: Anna, De’Amon, Alejandro, Sandra, Dan, Jackie, Maziar, Al. I just couldn’t make myself believe them. I held on to some sort of faith in the solidness of the people I saw around me. I didn’t believe the witnesses and so discovered in myself the very same white supremacy I am trying to reject in others. It is a part of me-as close and as supportive as a limb. What kind of amputation must be done and what kinds of pain will I have to endure to heal? I am afraid.
Then I think, What right have I to fear or to even expect healing for myself without attending first to these others whose lives and loves are tortured and held hostage by my race? What of their fears? Do I love them and care for their wounds with the same commitment I make to my own self? Such grand thoughts are easy to write, and such sentiments cost me nothing. The question then becomes How much do I actually value the lives, loves, and bodies of these friends of mine? Am I willing to dissolve and be remade, or do I merely want to wave a hand at repentance and hope for the best?
How much easier the answers to these questions are if I accept how much of me is made of space and time and how little of me is actually meant to be fixed in place and solid all the way through.
It seems there is a part of me that seeks this leaving-ness, this breaking-ness. I enjoy the creativity of redrawing my own lines in the mirror. I love the fire and energy it releases and the life I find looking at the remnants of the life I am leaving behind. What’s more, I am really good at this: redefining self and staking new territory in which to live my own life. Not that it feels good or is easy or anything, but I find in it a real sense of doing something at which I excel.
So, to the real reason I wrote this letter to you. I realized last week that I am going to have to cut off communication with some people I love. I am going to have to let them go for a while. Not forever, I think, but for a season anyway. This seems foolish when everything I read and watch wants me to believe that relationships are the way we save the world. What kind of nonsense am I practicing to let go of a single one? Still, some of those closest to me and some of those institutions and structures I have relied on so heavily are more committed to holding everything together than they are to being Alive. They are more committed to the shape of their dust than they are attentive to the Breath.
So I could really use you right now: your wisdom, your love, your sense of silliness and play. This next step is really going to hurt, and I am worried that I might not be up to it. I am worried I may give up and turn back; back to the relationships and schedules and dreams and ways of believing that held and formed these ashes for a while. I am afraid to let go of myself. I am afraid of the responsibilities and sacrifices a new shape will ask of me. To be honest with myself, I am most afraid that I won’t take any kind of new shape at all.