More than logic

“If the world were only pain and logic, who would want it?
Of course, it isn’t.
Neither do I mean anything miraculous, but only the light that can shine out of a life.”
(Mary Oliver)

Of course the world is not only logic. We can beat our heads against the wall, searching for certainty, and we simply won’t find it. The things that really animate our existence – feelings, people, relationships – defy categorization into the neat boundaries of logic and rationality. That is what makes them so daunting, and so seductive. Also, scary, particularly for those of us predisposed towards control and clarity.

There is tension between surrendering to that which we cannot comprehend and striving to better understand. The existence of that which is illogical and inchoate is not an excuse to throw up our hands in the face of the work required to live examined lives. Still, it is clear to me that we need to celebrate, and not fight, the ambiguous, illogical parts of our lives, selves, and relationships.

Maybe this is the essence of maturity: waking up every morning in the face of that all that cannot be known and embracing the uncertainty and the certainty with equal ardor. Maybe this is the definition of intimacy: seeing someone for who they are, including that which cannot be understood, and loving them because, not in spite of, those things.

Seven



Grace on the first day of being seven. She looks older to me, in a single day. I can see in her face both the baby she was and the woman she will be.

And this, I love. I love. Thank you to Jen of Momalom for pointing me to the marvelous poem from which it is taken:

Pursue the authentic-decide first
what is authentic,
then go after it with all your heart.

(Louise Erdrich: Advice to Myself)

What I want is to be willing to be dazzled

The Ponds (Mary Oliver)

Every year
the lilies
are so perfect
I can hardly believe

their lapped light crowding
the black,
mid-summer ponds.
Nobody could count all of them —

the muskrats swimming
among the pads and the grasses
can reach out
their muscular arms and touch

only so many, they are that
rife and wild.
But what in this world
is perfect?

I bend closer and see
how this one is clearly lopsided —
and that one wears an orange blight —
and this one is a glossy cheek

half nibbled away —
and that one is a slumped purse
full of its own
unstoppable decay.

Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled —
to cast aside the weight of facts

and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.
I want to believe I am looking

into the white fire of a great mystery.
I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing —
that the light is everything — that it is more than the sum
of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.

HWM – thank you. the right words at the right time. older and wiser you will always be.

My broken, cracked pieces.

Grace is seven. She has had a great day. I have had a tough day. Thank you to those of you who have sent incredibly sweet and thoughtful emails, who have called to celebrate my girl – the generosity of spirit means a great deal to me. I am lucky to have you all in my life.

Kelly Rae’s post tonight
really touched my bruised, aching heart. I think it’s very lovely. My favorite line: I want to own the beautiful fragility of my broken, cracked pieces. I’m not there but that is a beautiful summary of where I want to be.

the friction wants me to notice its offerings. what do you really want, it asks. and i answer:
i want to remain open.
i want to embrace aging.
i want to forgive by accepting what is good about him/her/them,
i want to own the beautiful fragility of my broken, cracked pieces.
i want to say yes to the light.
i want to notice the small moments that make all the difference.
i want to be light hearted in the wake of intensity.
i want to say thank you.
and hello. and i notice you.
i want to be fearless, yet soft.
seasoned, but green.
i want to learn, not assume.
with my words and with my life, i want to be wise.

Anne Lamott, thank God for you.

“You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”

“You are lucky to be one of those people who wishes to build sand castles with words, who is willing to create a place where your imagination can wander. We build this place with the sand of memories; these castles are our memories and inventiveness made tangible. So part of us believes that when the tide starts coming in, we won’t really have lost anything, because actually only a symbol of it was there in the sand. Another part of us thinks we’ll figure out a way to divert the ocean. This is what separates artists from ordinary people: the belief, deep in our hearts, that if we build our castles well enough, somehow the ocean won’t wash them away. I think this is a wonderful kind of person to be.”

“I have a lot of faith. But I am also afraid a lot, and have no real certainty about anything. I remembered something Father Tom had told me–that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty. Certainty is missing the point entirely. Faith includes noticing the mess, the emptiness and discomfort, and letting it be there until some light returns.”

“It’s funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some kind of inner toolbox full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools – friendships, prayer, conscience, honesty – and said ‘do the best you can with these, they will have to do’. And mostly, against all odds, they do. “