It seems insane. I seem insane. I make no sense to me. I terrify me.
So I wrote that I left Serra feeling opened up, not judging or perceiving but allowing and becoming aware; and when with Serra there were Understandings, word pictures of how things are, and indeed of I had reacted.
-I know the rules say that my phone should be off, and I am hoping for contact which if I do not answer will occupy so much head space that I will be unable to concentrate.
The phone rings, and it is someone else. Hope- dashed; but no-one calls this phone! I have hardly given out the number, people don’t call me on it! Text-beep. I grab the phone, look at the message. Again, not as I hoped.
-What if she doesn’t call? Serra asks.
Still on the floor, I come close to her chair and quote,
The Desolations are not the sorrows’ kin
Sorrow is gentle, singing her sons to sleep
The desolations know no word or music
Only a harsh inarticulate cry
inaudible to the poetry-pampered ear.
If Serra is my mother, saying she’s no good for you, you know, as well as at times that teen BFF that I never had, as I still presented male then, then F symbolises adulthood and freedom- in the game I play with Serra- even if in reality, I may have to make my own adulthood and freedom without her help. I am only aware now of the passionate intensity in my voice as I quoted because Serra pointed it out, and my anger was with her- even if you are right and this is going nowhere, I do not want you pointing that out to me. So my counsellor lets me again rebel against my mother, I separate myself and become free.
And that man. He wants to die (at least in my understanding of the situation). I sympathise. (Do I want to die too? God it is so pointless and boring, nothing and nowhere and endless, though I would not want to admit that.)
I cycle, and I get better at it. Thirty miles in three hours on Tuesday, over beautiful country roads much of it single track, with the seat higher risking back pain and avoiding that by extending leg and ankle more. Not instant perfection but slow incremental improvement through effort. And I give a lot of thought and effort to Quaker clerking and I am doing good there too.
At one point she leant down and touched my foot, and then realised she had crossed a boundary. It pleased me, and at the end I asked for and had a hug.
What is “Real Me”? Possibly that bouncy me isn’t, either. Questioning everything I do could open me for useful change, or paralyse me. So- as a practice, be open, for everything is beautiful, even me, judging, condemning, pretending, acting, hiding, all reasonable legitimate choices though I hate it all
Open! Love it all! Saying my affirmation on Friday morning I forgot one word. The words I forget are the important ones. I could not think of it, so looked it up: it is Compassion.
Today (Saturday) two moments of arrogance. I thought during worship of standing and saying
I am the Goddess.
Everything God made
God made for me.
but thought, no, I know it, and do not need witnesses. Perhaps it is good I did not share that, perhaps it would have been OK. And, what would George Fox have been today? I answered my own question: Revolutionary; speaking directly to the Hearts of some people; taking no shit; and Solid. Present. Clear. I knew in that moment I described myself.
Then a few minutes later I am exhausted, just wanting to get away, barely able to be polite. I contain multitudes, I am extremes, I cannot bear any of them-
I have resisted, and continue with my spiritual work of Permitting, though it is all impossible and insane. Had it been easy I would have done it already.