lower case

February 4, 2005

stairwell accompaniment:Damien Rice-O

I sat on Allan’s bed tonight as the three of us-Allan, Mattlevi and I- hurled our thoughts, our experiences, our questions into the air in hope of one of the other offering a response, a retort, a similar soul. Allan wrote a book and Mattlevi and I are in the process of reading, responding and critiquing. A book discussion with the author and the author is a friend. Without my guidance- a possible product of my recent questions on the subject- our conversations turned to love. And the circle of questions and theories continues. One argues that love cannot possibly be love until it’s proven, tested- the other argues that love IS just a word and by giving those four letters such weight we minimize the big picture. I don’t want to speak. What do I know? God is love. And me? I am just a whore. A whore in search of a love that is true- the desire to stop settling.

So tonight entered my home grumpy. Admittedly in a bad mood. Battling my jumbled thoughts, mixed emotions and isolated tendencies.

Selah.

and here i sit on my unmade bed. three books open, papers, bills to be paid, journal to be updated, birthday cards to be sent. i wear my glasses for comfort purposes (something i can hide behind). messy hair. kristi’s chocolate icing lined bowl beside me waiting to be enjoyed. my hot laptop leaving indentations on my unclothed legs and my dog is sleeping beside my bed, occasionally rolling on her back, paws in the air. this moment. i silently remind myself that to be fully present to whatever is immediately before me is an act of radical trust- trust that God can be encountered at no other time and in no other place than the present moment. and so often i ignore it because my mind ricochets between the past and the future. self-forgetfulness. i will stand stubbornly here, rejecting the restlessness that urges me to move on, and shutting out the voices that lure me into tomorrow. blow off the demonic whisper, “look busy- Jesus is coming.”

“Be what you are actually doing at the present moment.”- Bruteau

self-forgetfulness.

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