Loop

People  Kirk Newman (1926-
Bronze
1973-1974  Kalamazoo Institute of Arts

photograph daysift

Status. Going back. I don’t. Primarily because it no longer serves with purpose. Unless it does. Still seems I have very little to say about that as it is so with spirit. Moments of treasure appear at their time. My best attitude is one of greeting. Serving, with purpose. I do. All that my ecosystem can calibrate to date has been logged. Learning continues seamlessly. Energy captive in the center entering comprehension. I can sense it now. Pretty sure it’s some genuine me but better safe than sorry. Besides, the escape valve is all on or all off. Tricky. Filter. Filter. Like I’m learning to swallow. No need to turn my back or live in unknown futures. The present is less illusive.

Strength. In what arises. Remains stand still unless moved (see my post titled Remains) but arisings, (noun) are in motion. Joy, in the bits that bubble up. Like slippery foam to the top of the broth pot when the marrow lets go. Raisin dumplings made with yeast and stale beer. (If the oil is exactly right, they flip themselves.) Arisings are the delicious pleasures that wisp off of a thing when it’s been tended. Long and slow and not without anticipation. Simmer.

Rita said that sounds like a thought loop. She was referring to something else though. I told her I had a tendency to sabotage. When the possibility of raw connection is in front of me. Not letting myself trip into a fantasy, and then, going full steam into one. Human being wise. Which as far as I’m concerned, Socrates had right. I wouldn’t want an unexamined life and it makes me feel lonely to think how empty that might taste.  Not in my wheelhouse. Hope and love have endless capacities to bring sight.

Loop she said. My default is to at least be funny, entertaining. Which took me back to counseling and maybe a few tools I picked up there. Counseling wasn’t fun or funny. Rita couldn’t possibly have known that the word “loop” is a trigger for me. Loops, unlike arisings, are crazy makers. Not so uncommon a state to arrive in. After. In my case, after four decades of adult life doing exactly what my nature required of me. Take care of everyone possible, and pretend it’s temporary.  Dad always said, you can do anything for a short time. And I didn’t. Do anything for a long time accept do many many things for a short time. Trench. To trench. To trench. That’s what’s called a survival skill.

The first 6 months following my leaving, every waking moment lived within the loop of crisis analysis. Describing it as analysis is far too grand because it had a life apart from me. My counselor (I took notes) said to try and slow it down long enough to take even one issue out. Put it aside. Shelve it. I pictured it as juggling. When I watch a juggler, it looks like adding stuff is calculated. Dumping stuff, less so. That is how I am slowly taking back my life. Deconstructing the loop. Literally, breaking the cycle.

Turns out odd. Intricate even. Behaviors that were powerful when I needed them, may not be now. Could anyone ring the bell maybe? When dormant is the best avenue for certain thought patterns?  Children, and even their grown versions, are adaptable. We do what we do to be safe, and to know love, whether threats are real or perceived. In my case, I didn’t slow down to look at it. The home I had as a kid wasn’t of my own making. I listened and I made up stories. For a long time. The “home” I’ve cobbled as an adult is of my own making. I have no difficulty defining the edge between fact, and story. That does not, however, preclude the telling. My greatest foe and folly; embellishment. My default in the face of the possibility of raw connection. Human being wise. Just smile at me if the mood strikes. Laugh. Joy is here. Take some.

As regards raw connection, Ezra taught me much about men this past year. Ezra, whom I have thus dubbed with affection, is the same afore mentioned rugby-coaching-attorney-redneck from Southern Indiana. He drew me a bath and fed me peanut butter cookies. So straight-away I was caught by attentions. We strolled and talked and watched kids playing in a fountain. That’s when I kicked my sandals off and he told me later was when he knew where we were headed. Since, we’ve mutually confessed to being good on paper.