April 23, 2002 : the quest.

Supposedly we are all on some great quest for truth. My truth will never be your truth, just like her concept of a diety/creator is not the same as his. That girl over there imagines him a really old santa-clause like man with a beard that sometimes pokes out of the bottom of clouds, and an old friend thinks of god as the brightest light to behold--barely imaginable--what the night would be if you removed the blue-black part of the night sky. A sky with only stars.

And me? I used to think that it would entail a searching. That birth was closely followed by need, and the need led to a searching and the searching led to packing a proverbial bag with warm clothes and clothes made for the coldest of weather, pens and paper, a staff to keep me balanced, and a couple of pictures to remind me of my roots--of love.

How is this different than what it has turned out to be thus far? Sometimes I think it completely different, that I only worry myself with daily happenings. Will there be supper on the table when she returns? Will I get enough sleep if I go to bed an hour later? Can I possibly wear these jeans one more day without having to wash them? Am I supposed to say jij or jouw? And occasionally I think about adding money to retirement plans.

But enter love from the left side of the stage. It is not that I have not had it before. If ever a child was loved by her parents, it is me. Unconditional? I do not need a bleeding saviour who forgives me of my daily gripes and grievances to see the word in action, the mom and pop version works just as well. But love. If not love then joy. If not joy then appreciation.

"The heavens declare the glory of God; and the earth shows his handiwork." David wrote psalms. I write notes and place them in between the layers of her cheese and dry meat sandwhiches. "Have a good day." I get up in the morning and look in the bathroom mirror to see a note left to me in dry-erase marker. "Good morning to the most beautiful girl in the world."

I was asked what it was that I left when I left it. A conversation with the creator. Imagine it, A conversation with the creator of the universe! The creator of all things was interested in all that I had to say. Comforted me when I felt that teenage-loneliness. Was my muse. Listened and spoke from picturesque mountain settings, from ancient texts, and even in the midst of crowded cafeterias. Amazing. It did not matter to me if it existed or not. For me, it was as real an experience as any. And to think I had it all figured out at 18, the peace would have carried me through middle-age and gray hair and solitude before death.

That is not what I miss. Not the peace. Not the conversations with god. If I miss anything, it is having a receptical for my thanks. A dump for words about pretty sunsets, safe journeys, nice days, good grades, near misses, and health. A vast hole where all of the thank you phrases about good friends, new jobs, directions, and family go. That is what I miss.

Eva thinks I will return to it someday. A circle sort of returning. I guess not a circle but a racetrack oval with ends curved...with long stretches in between. I must admit that she may be right. I don't know. She thinks it will happen when I am old, when I want something else to look forward to--so I don't have to rehash and replay mistakes and missings out. Shoulda-coulda-woulda. An ooooohhhhh I'm getting older, and I'm not ready to stop living sort of thing.

With this in mind though, I am trying to live not in a racetrack form but highway that never ends form. "Life is a highway, I wanna drive it all night long." Remember, the instant we are born we begin dying. (that's a deep one for you!) It's a vast expance in front of me. Any direction an option. Slow down for the scenery, eat at diners, mix with the locals, stop by friend's places, and take lots of photos. Sometimes I don't "write it down, (I) remember it in (my) heart." It's living. Not in a fast pace, but in an economy car. It gets me from point A to point B. I stick my arm out the window and get a suntan. I find a dirt road and lay back on my car roof to see the meteor showers. I have to change some tires. I know not to hitch too many rides. And I hate being a passenger--though sometimes the ride is much better when I don't have to watch the road. Sometimes I get too fucused, I get highway hypnosis...white stripe...white strip...white strip...and to the right...fencepost...fencepost...exit ramp...and to the left...a small little nothing town. Maybe I should rent a room and stay awhile.

A long analogy, but for me it was worth it. It might sound trite, but it is the best I can do. I live with me on a daily basis. I live in my bit-too-girthy skin, with my sometimes-needing-haircut hair, my contact-needing eyes, my nearly perfect teeth, my limbs, my mind, my sex, my brain, my actions, my consequences. I can only do what I can do. And as long as I go on, I will do my best to live. A motto? No. A religion? Not that I can tell. A manifesto? Not one that I have read or written. I just live. Not a dreadful thing to endure, but something to make the most of. I do not want to be the person who reflects on her life only to be dissappointed. I am not disappointed.

Do unto others as they would do unto you. Do unto others because it's nice. Because it resolves conflict. Because it will make their day better. Because you didn't even think about it, it was just a reaction. Try to not dampen the spirit of a room because you enter. Try to not be fake. Be real. Be sincere. Be genuine. Be a catchphrase of a tennis shoe. Yes of course it was somewhat ridiculous to think I could figure this out in one setting in one piece of writing! Give me more time! And, as I learned today in school, try to turn gray into orange.

Let me end with love, and if not love, joy, and if not joy, appreciation. Sometimes all three are in the form of an event, a happening, and sometimes a person. Of course joy sometimes chooses you. But in most days you have to be proactive. So I will end this in a way I used to end in every email in every correspondance, something I think I picked up, read, or saw somewhere...

choose joy.

(after all, what other option is there?)