Perfect in my Imperfection

I am perfect in my imperfection.

That wasp, flying/climbing up the Meeting House window is doing its thing. It is not happy or unhappy: it does that because it is the thing it does, the evolved response to particular circumstances. It will carry on until it falls, exhausted. It is not feeding, so it will exhaust its supply of chemical energy. If I am to help it, I must do so carefully: picking it up and putting it outside is not sufficient, I should put it where it may find a food source. I may do as I wish: putting it outside is enough, I do that because that is who I am; or I could use a smartphone to find how to help it feed; or ignore it completely.

When I was transitioning, I had experiences which I called cognitive dissonance, though I do not know if I use that term of art correctly. It felt as if the fact that I seemed to perceive something or believe it to be true was not evidence for or against its truth. The bottom fell out of my world, I was blown about having lost my bearings and my footing, I was terrified and after such experiences I became “depressed”, taking time off work to recover. I would gladly take pills to make that sensation go away, it stopped me functioning and any anti-depressant would be an improvement.

Now it seems I am like that, not knowing truth or falsehood, never being able to act in a way which is Good, or which fulfils my aims.

R. is not here. Is it something I said? That is a paranoid thought, but given the scope of our interaction over a couple of weeks recently, it is just credible enough to bother me- so I checked, and Liz said she is away visiting. The fear I have of driving her away is the same thing as the care I took in that interaction.

I sought Safety, and that means Stagnation. I stay in my house and do not go out, and even that is unsafe- do I feel up to going to the corner shop? There will be people there- and this is a disaster, a wilful act of self-destruction- and the best self-care I could do at the time. And- at the moment, all I have to do is buy food occasionally. Even washing and dressing is not essential.

This is Perfect. I can Know where I Am for the First Time. Possibly.

I wanted to minister, but my mind is too full. I could go out and ask Kelley to hear me- oh, that’s interesting, I recognise the possibility but do not get up. Then I speak, on Amos Oz curing fanaticism through humour and empathy, which may or may not be inspired ministry.

By the clock, the Meeting overruns by one minute. What? That’s not the Rules!
At that moment, I feel Loved. Perhaps I have never felt more Loved.