Willing to risk everything for the truth?
I specialize in lost socks, and other stuff. That's how I find people.
(I borrowed this picture off the internet. Thanks internet)
It is a proven fact that putting funny glasses on shy people makes them uncharacteristically outgoing.
What do I mean by Willing to risk everything for the truth, my byline? A friend of mine once wrote: "the world seems a lovely and funny place," and I want to see firsthand just how lovely and funny it is…but to do that, I have to face my greatest fear.
What is my greatest fear? Like Donnie Darko, is it the fear of dying alone? If I keep facing people with the truth, will I scare them all away? It’s a risk I take, willingly now, for it’s the only way I want to live. Being open to the world is a strange and wonderful and fabulous thing. And dangerous, so very dangerous. I stand along the precipice, looking down, breathing in the danger. And only then do I feel fully alive. In order to soar, I have to risk falling.
And I’ve been doing a lot of falling lately. A hell of a lot of falling.
I think Andrew Greeley, in The Great Mysteries, sums it up best, and I don't think you have to be religious to appreciate the impact of his words:
"The mystery of the Holy Spirit does not tell us that life is completely safe. It does not tell us that despite all evidence to the contrary we can trust everyone and take every risk. It does not assure us that we will not get hurt. It does not hide from us the evil of death. It does not claim to protect us from all the pain that vulnerability entails. The mystery of the Holy Spirit merely tells us that there are grounds for trust, that it is all right to take risks, and that being vulnerable to others is a better way to live. We will get hurt sometimes. We will fail often, we will be ridiculed frequently, we will be rejected occasionally, we will be shamed at least once in a while; but we will only die once. It is not safe over on the other side of the river; on the contrary it is more dangerous. But it is a much better place to be, and whichever side we choose, death will find us."
(Excepted from Andrew Greeley, The Great Mysteries, which you can read at: http://www.usao.edu/~facshaferi/greeley/mysteries3.htm)
One cold February evening, my life changed forever. It was that fateful night, or rather well into the morning, for the dawn song of the robins never lies, and the clouds hovered low over Queen Anne so that the Space Needle hung suspended above them like a flying saucer, that I threw caution to the wind, and stopped protecting myself, and stopped protecting others, from the truth, and began to ask myself what I really wanted, not what made me feel safe and secure. The only time I’m ever up at 4:30 AM is when I’ve never been to bed.
It had all started innocently enough. It was a Heaven and Hell bash, a costume pary. I was two hours late, having spent a good portion of the evening in thrift stores, and my costume was a ridiculous assortment of items found there, an old cell phone from the 80s, match box cars, silly glasses, a stuffed seahorse, a camera, a single solitary sock, you get the idea, hidden in every nook and cranny of my grandfather's woolen Russia cloak, a solitary sock stuck to the shoulder. There was so much packed in there, it weighed me down, and made me look larger than life. I had ratted out my hair, and wore big black round glasses that were far from flattering. Each floor of a three-story apartment building was devoted to Heaven (top floor), Limbo (first floor), and Hell (daylight basement level), and decorated in the regalia of each. I came as the Purgatory of Lost Things, returning items to their rightful owners, stuff they never knew they were missing, and the conceit of the costume was that in order to ascend to Heaven that night, I'd have to return ever one of those things where it belonged. I never quite made it up there, but I found some people along the way, by returning their stuff, people I was looking for.
What do I mean by Willing to risk everything for the truth, my byline? A friend of mine once wrote: "the world seems a lovely and funny place," and I want to see firsthand just how lovely and funny it is…but to do that, I have to face my greatest fear.
What is my greatest fear? Like Donnie Darko, is it the fear of dying alone? If I keep facing people with the truth, will I scare them all away? It’s a risk I take, willingly now, for it’s the only way I want to live. Being open to the world is a strange and wonderful and fabulous thing. And dangerous, so very dangerous. I stand along the precipice, looking down, breathing in the danger. And only then do I feel fully alive. In order to soar, I have to risk falling.
And I’ve been doing a lot of falling lately. A hell of a lot of falling.
I think Andrew Greeley, in The Great Mysteries, sums it up best, and I don't think you have to be religious to appreciate the impact of his words:
"The mystery of the Holy Spirit does not tell us that life is completely safe. It does not tell us that despite all evidence to the contrary we can trust everyone and take every risk. It does not assure us that we will not get hurt. It does not hide from us the evil of death. It does not claim to protect us from all the pain that vulnerability entails. The mystery of the Holy Spirit merely tells us that there are grounds for trust, that it is all right to take risks, and that being vulnerable to others is a better way to live. We will get hurt sometimes. We will fail often, we will be ridiculed frequently, we will be rejected occasionally, we will be shamed at least once in a while; but we will only die once. It is not safe over on the other side of the river; on the contrary it is more dangerous. But it is a much better place to be, and whichever side we choose, death will find us."
(Excepted from Andrew Greeley, The Great Mysteries, which you can read at: http://www.usao.edu/~facshaferi/greeley/mysteries3.htm)
One cold February evening, my life changed forever. It was that fateful night, or rather well into the morning, for the dawn song of the robins never lies, and the clouds hovered low over Queen Anne so that the Space Needle hung suspended above them like a flying saucer, that I threw caution to the wind, and stopped protecting myself, and stopped protecting others, from the truth, and began to ask myself what I really wanted, not what made me feel safe and secure. The only time I’m ever up at 4:30 AM is when I’ve never been to bed.
It had all started innocently enough. It was a Heaven and Hell bash, a costume pary. I was two hours late, having spent a good portion of the evening in thrift stores, and my costume was a ridiculous assortment of items found there, an old cell phone from the 80s, match box cars, silly glasses, a stuffed seahorse, a camera, a single solitary sock, you get the idea, hidden in every nook and cranny of my grandfather's woolen Russia cloak, a solitary sock stuck to the shoulder. There was so much packed in there, it weighed me down, and made me look larger than life. I had ratted out my hair, and wore big black round glasses that were far from flattering. Each floor of a three-story apartment building was devoted to Heaven (top floor), Limbo (first floor), and Hell (daylight basement level), and decorated in the regalia of each. I came as the Purgatory of Lost Things, returning items to their rightful owners, stuff they never knew they were missing, and the conceit of the costume was that in order to ascend to Heaven that night, I'd have to return ever one of those things where it belonged. I never quite made it up there, but I found some people along the way, by returning their stuff, people I was looking for.
Me (holding up a matchbox car): I think this is yours.
Arrogant Boy with beer (blank stare): What?
Me: From 1986. It fell behind your mom's couch.
Arrogant boy (in a huff): I was in junior high in 1986.
Fine, if you don't want to help me get to Heaven I'll look elsewhere.
Me (Pulling 1980s cellphone out of pocket): Hi there.
CM: Hi.
Me: I think this is yours.
CM: Huh?
Me: Don't you remember, your very first cell phone, from 1989? You were so excited. Although I'm not sure why, it's REALLY heavy.
CM (He takes the phone and examines it, turning it over in his hands): No way! You have to be kidding me!
Me: I knew you'd remember.
LK: That is not really your phone!
CM: But, it's the same phone, how did you get this phone?
Me: I found it where you left it.
CM: You're shitting me.
Me (starting to giggle).
CM: Oh my god, and I'm usually the one to pull things this kind of thing over on people.
…to be continued
…to be continued
posted by Susanne at 8:00 PM
2 Comments:
Purgatory of Lost Things. Oooo...Ooooo...great! Can't wait for the rest.
Ah, at least I know one person is reading this :)
Post a Comment
<< Home