I want to see you as you are.
And yet I want to fit you into some kind of conventional habitual right way of being, though I know that has no value, gives me no delight, distances me from you, prevents our connection…
And I want to produce some habitual conventional response to you, though it is as uncomfortable as not knowing.
I seek illusory safety in illusion.
None of this works, yet I keep trying it; and also see through a glass, darkly, the reality of you, the possibility of something better. I feel a clod, Caliban before Ariel.
And I am climbing toward-
I was delighted to meet Ruth at the Quaker meeting. She is training to be a Methodist local preacher, and takes one service a month. We discussed inspiration to speak. Her trainer has set aside his notes, and spoken from the heart during worship: it spoke to her heart, it had immediacy, it moved her far more than other sermons.
(We try to fake that, and it is dire: I remember excruciating ex tempore prayer with Evangelical students. “Lord we just– ask…”)
She has not the courage for that, but she has been working on a sermon and felt inspired. The words come, the unthought direction of the preaching comes.
She is the Other, with Other experiences and responses to mine. With such a short encounter, it is so much easier to place her in conventional understanding rather than see the person behind that. These are, after all, thoughts I could have about inspiration, and I am at the stage where imagining
could be cosy and reassuring and habitual.
It is worth practicing, trying something else-