Yesterday was unreal. My first post, the one I wrote to carry a gift that I was too shy to share, made Editors pick. Thank you Greg, for persuading me to venture forth. Thank you, Deborah, for the response you gave that made me persuadable. Even more unreal were the applauding, welcoming comments. From writers whose work floors me. From people I can tell I'll like.
I made Steve Blevins one of my favorites on OS. Without an in-depth comparative study, he defaults to the top of my favorites list. I bow down to his writing and the soul that produces it. My idea of good writing is a seamless partnership between message and method, each at the complete service of the other to produce a reality in the reader. Words, selected and arranged to make music of the message they carry, to give it the power to penetrate and to land in the heart and mind of the reader. Steve Blevins has both that sensitivity of spirit to make the medicine and the facility with language to create the force to deliver it, to compel us to it.
When I discovered he'd made me one of his favorites in return I did a double take. This couldn't be right. I felt ashamed, fraudulence awaiting discovery. Illuminating, once again, my habits of thinking.
This moment of transparency with the subversive drive masquerading as defence. What an opportunity to free myself of its tyranny by making friends with the fear that empowers it. I may be worthless (to whom?), inadequate (for what?), impotent (i don't want to fuck anyone anyway), stupid (look at all the examples of how little intelligence is required), bad (still have to get in line). So how is any of this relevant to anything that needs to get done? Not. All that matters is I get on with what needs to be gotten on with, and if it doesn't need to be gotten on with, why bother anyway.
My dear fear, thank you for the life-saving caution I have for external phenomenon such as moving vehicles, great heights, fire (which I not only survived but grew stronger from), starvation (hardly, I eat every 4 hours), as for the rest... I feel you brother. You can keep me company if you like. But I don't think I'll be entertaining you much from here on. And as your boredom with me grows, please feel free to fly away. I won't take it personally.
So what was unreal about yesterday's events? Only that it was contrary to what I have become accustomed to expecting. All my life. The expectations forged early, that have informed all following experiences. At 46 years of life I am finally coming to see. They have been invisible forces, nameless, faceless forces that camouflage so effectively I was unaware of their presence. Yesterday's events did not match standard operational outcomes.
I shall take off my clothes to rob them of hiding places. Look me in the eye. Let's get to know each other. Make friends. And like all relationships, where there is no more mutual benefit or joy, part ways.
So what if I don't look good? What is that to anyone? Heck, take opportunistic permission to stand naked too, not that you need it. If I don't need anyone's approval then what does it matter? If there's going to be a sting, feel the sting, survive the sting, be free of the sting. Love others without needing them to make me feel good about myself. Love, naked, stinging. Fail trying.
Ahhh... so much of life to arrive at a lookout point from which I can survey my very own landscape.
I see myself as a very fortunate person. Had sensational experiences that came cheaply. But none of it was real, and being unreal I was indifferent. It did not fit the program. Ten years of marriage to a man who loves me, even thinks highly of me, experiencing other people's joy in me even though by my own rationale the burn had left me with so much less to be desired - these have systematically contradicted the program. Error message after error message. My persistence works both ways. But now, receiving such an overwhelmingly positive response from a community of strangers that has folded me into their embrace for something that I did as a gift, this has tipped the scale already heavily weighted for contact. And the connection has been made. My circle has formed around me, ready for whatever I wish to put in it. Even fear can come sit. In peace.
Eleanor Roosevelt said "Do one thing every day that scares you".
As I'm about to post, my heart beats harder. I'm alive.
copyright 2010 Maria Heng