October Leaving

I kept a pretty thorough log of 'doing one thing everyday that scares me'. A lot of days were pretty uneventful and I really had to examine myself, but I succeeded everyday except for October 11th. Most of the things I was scared of had to do with hurting other people even if I needed to do what I should (like tell the truth or just say 'no I can't do that') or with not feeling equipped to handle a situation and being afraid that it was going to end very, very badly. I was just going to post the list, but things repeated a lot and I have decided I do not like the list format. It kind of divorces the fears from their context and I'm not so much a fan of that.

A few of the highlight events that revealed these things were my oral and practical exams for my mechanic's certification (I have never tried so hard to do something I didn't want to do!), dealing with some family/financial drama, trying very hard not to pick a fight with my landlady, and trying to learn how to cope with life without shutting down my emotions (apparently that means I stay home from school if I have a migraine, say what?). Oh and I bought a dress and danced with my boyfriend *in front of people*.

All in all, I am very glad October is over...not so that I can stop doing scary things, but because it was a very full month. My prayer for November is that it shows a little mercy. However, the mercy I receive may or may not be related to the mercy I allow myself to take in. October was confronting fear, maybe November can be about receiving mercy and grace. October, unrelated to the confronting fear, taught me a lot about my shortcomings, faults, failures, and the way in which I hurt people. I am very acquainted with all the things which make me ugly. I could use a healing balm. I expect anything that could bring healing to initially be terrifying, but I may just be ready.




Oh, also, I am an A&P mechanic! That was one of the gifts October left me with.

Skin to marrow to unexplored soul.

How do I explain this?

Fall makes me... restless. In a good way.

It makes me seek changes I have long been putting off. But fall in the city feels off beat. Fashion changes first. Then Halloween paraphernalia comes out. Then change grabs a few leaves or the air temperature. It feels funny. And I ... get stuck. Like a lizard trying to shed old skin, but not allowed out.

I'm not sure if that was a helpful metaphor.

But I am itchy. Skin to marrow to unexplored soul. There is no salve I know for this. Only the need to lie still out somewhere where I can count the space between passing cars in minutes, in breaths taken and released.

Yes that is what I need... a forest full of release.

There is nothing which *mandates* that my most itchy days be lonely days. It is just... that I become picky about my company. And the company which I would choose is typically unavailable on these days. Or they do not understand the importance of them. Either one. Justified or unjustified. I am at a point in my life where I do not wait for people because the longer I wait for people who are very likely going to misunderstand... the itchier I get. I can come very near to manic if I wait too long.

I do not know why.

There is pressure pushing me from an unknown direction. It is not meant to be lonely or to make me antisocial... It just is and it does.

I would bring people if they would come, but schedules are treacherous things. You need to be good at them, but not too good. Or else the itchy days will get you and gnaw on you until you blow off the really important things. In view of the week I have planned, I should not go. I have homework and preparation to do. In view of the week I have planned, it has to be today.

So South it is. Lunch is packed. Camera is charged. Notebooks still have space. Books are yet unread.

Grab the keys. It's time to go.

I feel fine as long as I am walking.

Forward of a kind, any kind,

Is best.

But when I stop

I itch and stir

And scrape and scratch

To start again.

To the borders!

To the very edges!

Right up to the horizon

And into the sun.

If there is no one to follow

I will be fine

Just let me go.

If no one comes

I will hardly notice

Just let me lead

--Even a march of one.

Because as long as I am walking

I am not here.

Here or there.

Both are places

Of static and station.

We who are always leaving

Hold neither.

And neither will ever hold us.

Move and breathe.

Walk and keep on walking.

Walking. Walking. Fading.

Rosa

She is a woman people have stopped expecting anything from, but whatever they want to take. She is a woman who has been around the block--and worn deep ruts from her passing. She is a woman who has learned brokenness on a cellular level.

Her face shows signs of abuse, internal and external, though perhaps-we hope- passed. She is small in nearly every way. Not threatening. Unassuming. Just, there.

And I do not believe I have ever met someone so overwhelmingly beautiful.

I have met her three times now as I volunteer, and this most recent time will be the last. She is leaving the program. She is recovered enough to move south to her two little girls and her family and hopefully to success. The way she talks about the future is breathtaking... the way it can only be coming from someone who has lost hope for a future and life and living... and then one day refused to accept that.

I wish I knew more of her story. There are a few telltale signs on which to build some generalizations. ...but I want to hear her tell it. Because her joy and her honesty are contagious, infectious, and so many other things. I do not know why. Or maybe I do. I think I feel hope rising and being fueled. I think my eyes are being lifted up past the pain and brokenness and curse of this world. I think weight is being given to the promise that the way things are is wrong, but it wont stay this way. Sometimes, after a good long fight, people come out stronger, better, triumphant. (I don't think she knows it yet.)

See I can be an idealist. Just not on a macro scale. Call me a micro-idealist. People. Individuals. Little steps on otherwise unimportant days.

I wanted to hug her and tell her she was strong. That she was beautiful. I wanted to invent new words so that she knew the worth and the value I wanted her to feel attached to what I wanted to say. But I'm just that quiet stranger being trained to do maintenance in the home that she is leaving. She does not know how much my prayers race my heart beat. I am so excited for her.

so many thoughts and no sifter large enough to fit them into

I want to hide myself in pictures, but only words come.

I want refuge in the expressed yet unexplained.

I want to lose myself to complexities of color and depth.

But everything has been laid bare:

too vulnerable,

too certain,

too easily ascertained;

but not the least bit understood.

So I am left saying what I try to mean

And not meaning very much.

If I could but bite and swallow and win and smile--

all at the same time,

in the space of half a breath.

...If I could just command obedience,

and cooperation from my insides

to my fingers...

then maybe you, they, I would see

what it is that I keep inside of me.

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Your body of suffering now brings pain where once I sought release. It is not supposed to be this way, I think. But here it is in my body condemned to death. And it is fitting, though unexpected. You are the only one I could accept this from. But that does not mean that I want to. Forgive me?

I want to be strong enough to give you my weakness. Perhaps, tomorrow. Or perhaps a miracle instead. If only I could be strong enough, but weakness is my marrow, my blood, my DNA, my name. No, not my name. It is in my weakness that I find those quiet moments.

In these moments I am finding out who I am. And who I am is Pain.

Your body, broken for me, has never meant so much... but it has never felt so far away. Our symbols break down and I feel the weight of the debris. Silly contradicting vanities open wide their questions and load them on my shoulders. Too strong, but not strong enough to be weak. Not weak enough to surrender them to you.

I do not think I am doing this right; but I am not yet ready to stop, only ready to be taught again.

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I can feel you leaving.

Bit by desperately-needing-to-be-untangled-bit.

I do not have the power to stop you--

Only this bit of broken will.

But you say nothing to draw attention,

(you had that a long time ago.)

You do nothing to be remembered,

(It doesn't matter. I have tallied the smallest details of expressions.)

You try your best to fade out.

(I am disappointed by your lack of originality.)

Friend, stay?

And that is all I have to offer.

But things are changing like a city in its last hour of day light.

Soon nothing will be the way it was.

full sails and painted toe nails.

There is something cathartic about leaving.

Not running or hiding.

Just the act of leaving. I think it's about freedom and the ability to move forward regardless of where 'forward' is. Especially in good company, but even with no company. Often, it gives physical form to what I feel I am doing in a more holistic sense.

So I've painted my toe nails for the wedding I'm going to. The wedding came at a perfect time for changing the color. It's silly and totally ridiculous, but it always makes me feel like I'm moving into a new season when the color on my toes gets changed. Possibly to the point that, when I am really ready to move on and out of a particularly burdensome or old season... I go home, shower, and paint my toes.

Here I am. Moving from gold to white. Whatever that means, I think it is best to decide after I am there. Too often we focus so much on the leaving that we do not take time to prepare for the act of coming that must follow. And for a blessed change, I am peaceably excited for whatever that is.

For now: road trip!