That's it. A wrap. Welcome to the reason I have painstakingly written over 400 entries. This is hundreds of hours of my life, and I take life seriously. As something that ought not be wasted (which is one reason Boy and Girl kiss at red lights and Girl unloads the dishwasher while the coffee is brewing).
This blog is my voice. Writing has always been my voice; the way I ask questions and the way I cope with emotional pain. First I wrote to Jesus, and I hoped he would hear me. Then I wrote plays for theatre, and I hoped my audience would hear me. When I began to blog in 2011, I hoped my readers would hear me. Maybe this method is immature and as I continue to grow, I'll leave the Gallivanting Grasshopper behind and find a more natural, intimate method of understanding and processing life. A method that doesn't involve needing to be heard or acknowledged by anyone except myself. But as of now, this forum is the safe space I've created for myself wherein I can be completely raw.
And to take that rawness away is to take away my voice.
It's one thing to be vulnerable and quite another to be helpless.
To take away my voice and my ability to be raw is to render me helpless.
I find strength in my vulnerability, as long as I'm able to be heard.
Which is why this is a public display of a naked life.
I've discovered that being raw in public attracts the people into my life with whom I am capable of having the most profound, loving, supportive connections. In fact, I received a hundred dollars the other day. From someone who reads my blog and wanted to show that he/she supports how I live.
Goodness, do I need this show of support sometimes. The money is super helpful (it'll probably get me from Lake Atitlan all the way to San Cristobal), but more than that is the gesture. It's someone else saying that what I'm doing is worthwhile. What I'm doing is meaningful to someone. Someone has connected with my life in such a way that they want to gift me with their resources so that I can continue.
Happy.
I don't NEED affirmation from people to know that what I'm doing is worthwhile. But goodness gracious, sometimes it can be so refreshing.
This raw, uncensored writing can also create hurt, defensiveness and hostility in the people who disagree with my lifestyle.
My intention isn't to cause pain... and it sucks if people experience pain I don't intend from reading my blog... but I don't know what else to do. I guess that those who don't resonate with my blog don't need to read my blog. Just like people who don't enjoy Game of Thrones don't need to watch Game of Thrones. I'm not forcing my ideas and experiences onto anyone. If people don't appreciate what I write, they can avoid Gallivanting Grasshopper the way Boy avoids spiders. It's not as if I'm somehow telepathically bombarding my words against their brains, is what I've always told myself. And if they do read it and are invited to place of defensiveness, maybe it'll also inspire a question. And questions are helpful...right? We all need to stumble around a little bit in order to learn how to walk.
And even if aforementioned hostility is never transcended, I'd still prefer authentic hostility over superficial love. I like knowing where I stand. If I know where I stand, the action I take is informed.
All that to say that what I wrote last week and what I write now wasn't and isn't an attack. What I wrote last week and what I write now is an expression of how the current circumstances are making me feel.
And I write it here.
Because this is my voice.
I feel...
I feel like a disease.
Not even a person with a disease.
Just the disease.
Plague.
Leprosy.
Cancer.
Pox.
I've been on the other side of sickness.
I've been the "healthy person" who chose the "disease". I was the Christian who dated the atheists and agnostics and bisexuals and many other manner of contagion.
I've been the "more equal" in the unequal yoke. And I've been the less equal.
II Corinthians 6:14.
"Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For what fellowship has righteousness with lawlessness? And what communion has light with darkness?"
"This verse doesn't mean there's a more equal and a less equal," you might say. "It's about not believing the same thing. Compatibility. Spurring each other forward."
"Then why does Paul carry on to compare believers and unbelievers to Christ and Belial?" I might respond. "Seems a bit extreme if it's meant to be a mere comment on compatibility."
I've been the believer and I've been the unbeliever. I've been righteous and I've been lawless. I've been light and I've been darkness. I've been the judger and I've been the judged.
And you know what I learned?
That it's all fucking silly.
We've all got light and we've all got darkness. We all go through stages of believing and... umm... not. Not believing is as vital to believing as darkness is to light. In my experience, neither is inherently right or inherently wrong, and both gift us with something absolutely priceless: perspective. Without perspective, how can we make informed choices? Where is choice in a world of only light or a world of only dark?
(BTW, I prefer colors. Greens and oranges are nice. I'm a big fan of burgundy. The wine and the color.)
You can quote Bible at me all day long. I'll probably be able to recite right along with you.
"You shall not intermarry with them, giving their daughters to your sons or taking their daughters for your sons, for they would turn away your sons from following me, to serve other gods. Then the anger of the Lord would be kindled against you, and he would destroy you quickly."
- Deuteronomy 7:3-4
You shall not intermarry with THEM.
Jesus Christ, am I tired of "them."
Holy poop, am I tired of "others."
I'm frustrated at how isolating and dehumanizing this "otherness" feels. Believers choosing to isolate themselves from "them" in order to remain "pure." In order to remain a "holy nation." In order to "keep their faith."Something that I adored about this Jesus guy was his emphasis on togetherness. On oneness. On acceptance. On unconditional love. And I don't understand how unconditional love and acceptance jives with isolation.
I've learned the Biblical song. I used to read the bloody thing through every year (from when I was eleven to when I was seventeen), spent an eon and a half in Awanas (I was the Bible quizzing queen), over three months in Christian camps, and did my Bible study right alongside math all the way through homeschool high school.
I also fell asleep with a pile of cutout Bible verses under my pillow every night -- verses I would read through, one after the other after the other until the words were burned into my eleven-year-old eyelids.
"I will both lie down in peace and sleep; for you alone, my Lord, make me dwell in safety. "
- Psalms 4:8
"When you lie down, you will not be afraid; yes, you will lie down and your sleep will be sweet."
- Proverbs 3:24
The Bible filled me full of terror as a child, with its detailed descriptions of demon possession and hellfire, and these descriptions dominated my dreams for years. I suffered endless, horrifying nightmares of being attacked by demons, dismissed by God and dragged into hell until I taught myself to not dream at all.
These dreams started when I was seven.
Seven.
When I was seventeen and a freshman in university, I was in the throes of the painful, frightening process of moving out of my faith and into my heart. And I cringe to think of how I treated people during that particular stage of growth. I told my first boyfriend of-all-time-ever that our relationship was unhealthy because we believed different things -- which was the concern of the majority of my community at the time. Hell, I even tried to coerce him into going to church with me (and succeeded, upon rare occasions. Doesn't matter that he only went for the free coffee). I also had that ubiquitous, red-faced, sweaty-palmed, stare-at-my-toes conversation about how I didn't feel comfortable with our level of physical intimacy. Because it was immoral.
He broke up with me a few weeks later (good for him), presenting me with a short story he'd written. A short story about how this one character named "Aimee" asked her boyfriend to fight with God in an arena. To prove his love for her (or something along those lines).
I made that boy feel like an "other" with my desire to isolate myself . I communicated to him that he wasn't enough. His beliefs weren't good enough. And that his not-enough-ness was infecting me.
And I did it all in the name of love.
A largemouth bass plays in the river, blows largemouth bubbles out of his largemouth mouth and thinks to himself (in his largemouth brain), "Golly gee, isn't water grand? Isn't it beautiful to watch the sunlight filtering down through the ripples and between the lily pads? What a beautiful world down here, with all the greens and browns and greys and silky smooth skipping stones. What a damn fine smorgasbord, with all the shrimp for me to eat, crawling across the floor; all the spiders for me to catch, dancing on the surface. What a fine life I lead. Why, I should think every creature would want to live in the water like me."
Just then, the largemouth bass caught sight of a small blue butterfly, which had been blown across his pleasant pond by a ghastly gust of wind.
"Hey Blue," the bass bubbled up to the butterfly. "Get yourself out of the storm and into something safe and warm."
"It's a breeze and it'll pass," Blue fluttered precariously above the bass, "and in that water, I wouldn't last."
"Sure you would," the bass persisted.
"I would drown," Blue insisted.
"But I can breathe," largemouth bubbled, "It's easy, peasy, don't be troubled."
"Thank-you all the same," Blue wheezed, "but for now, I'll ride the breeze."
"You're dying, surely!" largemouth sputtered sincere fear, "Hurry Blue, get in here!"
And leaping from a place of love, the bass gave Blue a mighty shove. Blue tumbled towards the dancing spiders, shouting out, "I'm not a strider! I can't swim and I can't breathe! My dance is among the trees!"
"You'll adjust," Bass told the seizing butterfly, "and learn to breathe like the rest of us."
...
"What's that you said? I couldn't hear. Perhaps you could say it louder, dear?"
...
"You're awfully still...." largemouth pondered. "I'll give you just a little longer. Enjoy the water, my quiet friend, I'll pop by again when you descend."
"The story doesn't work," you might reply. "We're all largemouth basses. You're not a butterfly."
"Perhaps you're right," I'd say in turn. "Let's take the victim of a burn. Skin scarlet, oozing puss -- happens to the best of us. Along comes a massage therapist, worried sick and eager to assist. She grabs the burn and begins to croon, "Sshhh.... stop crying, it'll be better soon."
You can say that you love me until I drown.
You can say that the messages and letters and phone calls are all expressions of care.
But in the end --
-- I drown (or my wound becomes infected and inflamed).
Which doesn't feel an awful lot like love to me.
Love doesn't work if it's you giving what you need to give.
Love works if it's you giving what the beloved needs to receive.
"Well.... err... maybe the water that gives me such a grand sort of life isn't suited for everyone," largemouth says to the vacant eyed butterfly.
Love humbly steps outside of itself. Of imposing its own morals and worldviews.
In order to love, you have to kick off your judgement shoes.
Love eliminates lines of otherness because lines are drawn in fear.
Fear of losing The Way. Fear of exposing oneself. Fear of physical, emotional, spiritual pain.
"There is no fear in love."
(I believe that Jesus would agree with me here)
I'm tired of being darkness. I've got a veritable buttload of colors that I'd like acknowledged (umm... burgundy. Please?) and would be tickled pink if my colors were respected as valid, regardless of whether or not they're your personal favorites (although burgundy is indisputably awesome).
Boy keeps the volume of his cell extraordinarily loud (I think he's already going deaf), so I accidentally overheard a snippet of conversation whilst on my way to the toilet for a wee. It was a snippet of love from his hometown community.
It put a voice to all the words.
And the voice cut.
So
So
Deep.
This PERSON... is saying these things?
I was numb for the rest of the evening.
For the next day.
Speechless,
Dehumanized,
Traumatized
by Love.
I don't like the word "broken" when used to describe human beings. I think it implies that someone is less than whole. But I feel deflated. Discouraged. Like who I am and what I have to offer isn't enough. Like who I am and what I have to offer is destructive and poisonous.
To a person I love.
Oof.
And now the person I love is asking me to come back down from where I've floated off to. In order to cope with the nightmares of my childhood, I chose to stop dreaming altogether. To ignore. To distance myself from pain and fear (and the sources, thereof). And Boy is gently asking Girl to float down through her protective veil of clouds and reach out towards that place of pain. Every last fight or flight instinct is kicking in (violently), and instead of just hopping on a plane to Mexico, he's keeping me grounded, saying, "I love you, I'm with you, I want to support you. I know this is hard...but what is most loving?"
Not "what is most safe?" Not "what is right?" or "what is wrong?"
What is most loving?
Reaching out from a place wherein Girl has just lost her cherished identity as a worldclass vagabond and towards the people whom Boy loves, but who reanimate all her blocked-out nightmares.
It's not easy.
"I'll try."
This week has been full of shower days. Not the kind of showers wherein I turn on a faucet to get clean. The kind of showers wherein I sit on the floor and look at the drain.
What gets me out of the shower?
1) Boy's kisses
2) Adventures with my mom
3) Dinner parties with friends
4) Bacon and Cathy. They often go together.
But I can't stop wanting to be in that shower until my head is finally clear. Until I process my confusion and hurt. Until I feel heard.
And so I use my voice.
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