fractures

I have an art piece that I want to do... but I lack the time and resources. Well, I have a lot of art pieces that I want to do and I could list all of those, but that would make me too sad. However, this one is particularly relevant today.

I want a pane of glass that I can intentionally stick a photograph to, let set with goop, and then tear off leaving a partial of the photo (a portrait of some emotive design likely emphasizing the face). Then I want to smash the pane so that the glass spiders. ...and then I have to find a way to keep it together after that.

It sounds pretty simple when I read it. I guess it is. Maybe I just want to smash things. Glass is pretty satisfying.

This piece comes out of living in too many unrelated spheres. It comes from quarantining certain parts of life from others, intentionally or unintentionally. And trying to live in that tension. For some people, it is that distinct loneliness they feel either because their church does not get them and/or their life outside of church does not. Usually both. Or two groups of friends. Or two homes. Whatever it is...it causes this chasm to open wide and you find yourself called to either side, but mostly residing somewhere deep inside it for fear of leaving something of yourself behind upon choosing a side.

And for me, I am caught between the abstractions and philosophizing of my starving muse...and the aircraft hangar. And I love them both for their own reasons. More than that, I do not know who I would be without either. In writing that, I want to rebel and resist definition, but it is useless. The former, is my lifeblood. It is how I think and how I see the world and when I ignore it, I become frighteningly mechanical and somehow less human. The latter is this perhaps overly romanticized dream that I have built for more than seven years. By the time I get to actually being able to learn to fly, it will be well nigh a decade.

Take into account that those were extra formative years in my life and aviation is inextricably part of my identity. Where else would I go? What else would I do? It is theoretically possible, but it would be a divorce with far reaching implications. Divorcing one's metaphorical DNA is a procedure that has never done anything but boost the pharmaceutical industry.

But I need to know if I can build dreams from schematics. If I can keep one foot in both worlds without falling and failing. Can I set my poetry and paintings between my FARs and Aeronautical Dictionary?

Beyond than that, what if I have romanticized flight? Is it possible that I could chase this all the way past every imaginable and tangible obstacle only to be disappointed because I was infatuated with an idea rather than the reality itself? I do not give myself over to love such fragile things easily. I am too timid for that. But I am afraid that this is a lost cause. Even if it is a false love, it is one I carry most fiercely and will never be rid of except perhaps by the very disappointment I fear. Quite simply I am in too deep.

But I knew all of that. This is not new. I wish it was. Then it would not carry the shame of familiarity. But I return here again and again and again. I know how it will end each time. I will climb out. I go do my homework and pass my tests with varying quality and questionable worthiness. And there is grace in time because she keeps moving even when we are not watching. Despite our bickering as to how quickly or slowly she should be going, she keeps the same pace.

So I know how today will end, but I still chafe against these worries. And I know I will be here again. I am creature of habit like everyone else. But I do long for the day when all of me is in agreement. When the tension is gone because who I want to be, is. And I may well be waiting into eternity for that, but time brings that nearer.

ALL of that to say just this: It helps to realize that the schism is less my own mistake today with a solution that I am overlooking and more a matter of groaning as we wait for eternity. It is good to remember. These fractures have their beginnings in the tension between now and eternity. There is an end. But it is not my responsibility. Two kinds of rest.

The irony is that for the past week I have not been able to get past the first few verses of Hebrews. Conspiracies.