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amulIn addition to the horrific number of hours I worked this week, I'm also quite pleased to say that I've been praying every morning. Because of the morning devotions, I've also been performing a nearly-full regiment of morning toiletries and waking up early enough to accomplish them and still leave on time for work, rather than my previous habit of running out the door with a bagel stuffed in my mouth while buttoning my pants. Most importantly, though, I have not been checking my email first thing.
I'm tempted to go ahead and try to add yoga to my mornings now, but I'm worried this may be too much, too quickly. When does a newly incorporated habit become an established part of the ritual? If I am forced to take Small Steps, then how small must they be?
Another question that's come up is my trip to Arkansas. Would it be uncouth of me to pray while on vacation at the home of complete strangers who are most likely not impressively open-minded? Would it be uncouth of me to stop praying just because I'm on vacation?
I can remember my grandfather pacing in the guest bedroom of my parents' home, incanting the Jai Ganesha. He would tell me that the whole point of prayer and meditation is that it has nothing to do with anyone but you and God.
I have to express particular gratitude today to Wicked Kitten and Comfortingly Bouncy, who have both agreed to perform the Raksha Bundan with me. It is a particular kind of sweetness to be able to acknowledge the establishment of my life here in Chicago with the tools of a faith I'm also trying to move back to. Although Fidget has decided that she cannot yet undergo such rituals with me, we seem to have agreed on the reasons why I asked and why she refused, and it's also pleasant to acknowledge publicly that I opened myself up to her by asking such a thing, and that in itself is a step towards greater friendship. Didi Dearest and I have not actually discussed it beyond wishing each other a happy holiday on the 19th, and so I wonder if perhaps that stage of our friendship has passed.
Thorn Chain is fond of tell me that friends enter your life for a Reason, a Season, or a Lifetime. This last month has been rife with all such manner of creatures. WK and CB, I imagine have come to my life for a lifetime. Achingly Defiant, and the slow progress of friendship in the aftermath of our relationship.....I first thought she was meant to stay with me for only a season, but now I think perhaps there is a very particular Reason which is not yet done with me. Roo, whom it seems will drift in and out of my life for a season at a stretch.
The desire to codify such friendships is strong. A season is coming to a close, and I can feel the Reluctance in the air, like a heavy rain slowly building.
I doubt those of you who have long read my LJ would be surprised if there is no taint, no chiaroscuro in my life, and you'd be right. A thousand insufficiencies remain to be addressed, and life keeps moving forward, keeps pushing me to recognize and address the degrading incompleteness which I feel in me.
The largest such dilemma I've had to face in the last week I am not yet at liberty to discuss in such an open forum. I shall not be the bearer of such news, though my thoughts are heavy with it.
Let me focus instead on something that I'm sure will seem trivial, but speaks to me of the core of my current issues.
Last night, I was upset over something. The details themselves are trivial, and would be quickly forgotten were it not for the heavy hand of Implication. Suffice it to say that I was upset, and that my anger was targeted, right or wrong, at a particular person. I felt that she had wronged me, and that I was owed an apology.
I've discussed before my issues with apologies, my difficulty in navigating such emotionally raw landscape. Recent events with AD and Roo have, at least, shown that I've made some progress in expressing sorrow when I'm the offending party, and I guess I need to acknowledge that this is a Small Step, one that I should be grateful for.
But last night I felt I was wronged, felt that I was hurt, and that an apology would be fair. I was angry, and my anger consumed me in ways I was not comfortable with. I held my tongue as long as I could, a paltry few seconds, before expressing myself. Though it was tempting to do so, I did not lie about why I was angry, did not exaggerate the offense (which, as I've said before, was relatively minor).
I told her I was angry, and she expressed surprise in discovering I was upset. But here the ritual faltered, and I was on uneven footing once more. I did not know what comes next, did not know how to move beyond this point.
So I retreated. Said that it was probably unfair of me to be angry with her, came up with a thousand reasons why I might be blowing things out of proportion. It reminded me strongly, and unpleasantly, of many similar conversations with Christine. In essence, I said I am angry but it is wrong of me to be so. I have no right to an apology, even though I felt I had precisely that right.
In the dark of the club, we yelled into each other's ears, and tried to move past it, tried to remind ourselves of why we valued the other's friendship, and ignored the pain. I kept my eyes on the dance floor, and did not look at her even when I had to lean close to be heard. She stayed and talked with me, though I could see from the corner of my eye that she wanted to leave, to dance, to talk with everyone else who had come.
At the end of the night, we hugged and said goodbye, and perhaps there was something there in the hug that expressed apology, but I could not be sure. I dwelt on the hurt still, on the long ride home, and it came back to me in the late afternoon when I finally woke. Hours later, and I'm still dwelling on it, watching it slowly transform into another Tiny Hurt, one more bit of rot inside the dark confinement in which my broken-winged fairy remains imprisoned.
It's got me thinking about the screaming arguments with Christine, at the end of things. The way we chided each other for not having the strength to be the first to apologize for all the Tiny Hurts we'd inflicted on each other over long, silent years. It makes me feel emotionally impotent. I've learned, over the last year, to accept, appreciate and express happiness. I'm doing much better at handling the positive emotions, at recognizing feelings and even acknowledging the dark edges of such emotions. I've learned to accept that there's a bitter taste to even the sweetest emotional foods. But I feel like I've not made any progress on the darker side of that street.
I was angry, and I didn't know what to do about it except ignore it. I've heard a man in a crisis falls back on what he knows best / A murderer to murder and a thief to theft / I don't want you to think I'm asking for absolution / But running's what I do when put to the test. So I retreated, pretended like it was nothing, and now I sit here in the growing gloom of evening and contemplate, when there are handfuls of friends I promised this day to.
What should I have done instead? It eludes me.
In other news, I realized today that September 15th will mark one full year since I first moved to Chicago. I should do something to celebrate.
I'm tempted to go ahead and try to add yoga to my mornings now, but I'm worried this may be too much, too quickly. When does a newly incorporated habit become an established part of the ritual? If I am forced to take Small Steps, then how small must they be?
Another question that's come up is my trip to Arkansas. Would it be uncouth of me to pray while on vacation at the home of complete strangers who are most likely not impressively open-minded? Would it be uncouth of me to stop praying just because I'm on vacation?
I can remember my grandfather pacing in the guest bedroom of my parents' home, incanting the Jai Ganesha. He would tell me that the whole point of prayer and meditation is that it has nothing to do with anyone but you and God.
I have to express particular gratitude today to Wicked Kitten and Comfortingly Bouncy, who have both agreed to perform the Raksha Bundan with me. It is a particular kind of sweetness to be able to acknowledge the establishment of my life here in Chicago with the tools of a faith I'm also trying to move back to. Although Fidget has decided that she cannot yet undergo such rituals with me, we seem to have agreed on the reasons why I asked and why she refused, and it's also pleasant to acknowledge publicly that I opened myself up to her by asking such a thing, and that in itself is a step towards greater friendship. Didi Dearest and I have not actually discussed it beyond wishing each other a happy holiday on the 19th, and so I wonder if perhaps that stage of our friendship has passed.
Thorn Chain is fond of tell me that friends enter your life for a Reason, a Season, or a Lifetime. This last month has been rife with all such manner of creatures. WK and CB, I imagine have come to my life for a lifetime. Achingly Defiant, and the slow progress of friendship in the aftermath of our relationship.....I first thought she was meant to stay with me for only a season, but now I think perhaps there is a very particular Reason which is not yet done with me. Roo, whom it seems will drift in and out of my life for a season at a stretch.
The desire to codify such friendships is strong. A season is coming to a close, and I can feel the Reluctance in the air, like a heavy rain slowly building.
I doubt those of you who have long read my LJ would be surprised if there is no taint, no chiaroscuro in my life, and you'd be right. A thousand insufficiencies remain to be addressed, and life keeps moving forward, keeps pushing me to recognize and address the degrading incompleteness which I feel in me.
The largest such dilemma I've had to face in the last week I am not yet at liberty to discuss in such an open forum. I shall not be the bearer of such news, though my thoughts are heavy with it.
Let me focus instead on something that I'm sure will seem trivial, but speaks to me of the core of my current issues.
Last night, I was upset over something. The details themselves are trivial, and would be quickly forgotten were it not for the heavy hand of Implication. Suffice it to say that I was upset, and that my anger was targeted, right or wrong, at a particular person. I felt that she had wronged me, and that I was owed an apology.
I've discussed before my issues with apologies, my difficulty in navigating such emotionally raw landscape. Recent events with AD and Roo have, at least, shown that I've made some progress in expressing sorrow when I'm the offending party, and I guess I need to acknowledge that this is a Small Step, one that I should be grateful for.
But last night I felt I was wronged, felt that I was hurt, and that an apology would be fair. I was angry, and my anger consumed me in ways I was not comfortable with. I held my tongue as long as I could, a paltry few seconds, before expressing myself. Though it was tempting to do so, I did not lie about why I was angry, did not exaggerate the offense (which, as I've said before, was relatively minor).
I told her I was angry, and she expressed surprise in discovering I was upset. But here the ritual faltered, and I was on uneven footing once more. I did not know what comes next, did not know how to move beyond this point.
So I retreated. Said that it was probably unfair of me to be angry with her, came up with a thousand reasons why I might be blowing things out of proportion. It reminded me strongly, and unpleasantly, of many similar conversations with Christine. In essence, I said I am angry but it is wrong of me to be so. I have no right to an apology, even though I felt I had precisely that right.
In the dark of the club, we yelled into each other's ears, and tried to move past it, tried to remind ourselves of why we valued the other's friendship, and ignored the pain. I kept my eyes on the dance floor, and did not look at her even when I had to lean close to be heard. She stayed and talked with me, though I could see from the corner of my eye that she wanted to leave, to dance, to talk with everyone else who had come.
At the end of the night, we hugged and said goodbye, and perhaps there was something there in the hug that expressed apology, but I could not be sure. I dwelt on the hurt still, on the long ride home, and it came back to me in the late afternoon when I finally woke. Hours later, and I'm still dwelling on it, watching it slowly transform into another Tiny Hurt, one more bit of rot inside the dark confinement in which my broken-winged fairy remains imprisoned.
It's got me thinking about the screaming arguments with Christine, at the end of things. The way we chided each other for not having the strength to be the first to apologize for all the Tiny Hurts we'd inflicted on each other over long, silent years. It makes me feel emotionally impotent. I've learned, over the last year, to accept, appreciate and express happiness. I'm doing much better at handling the positive emotions, at recognizing feelings and even acknowledging the dark edges of such emotions. I've learned to accept that there's a bitter taste to even the sweetest emotional foods. But I feel like I've not made any progress on the darker side of that street.
I was angry, and I didn't know what to do about it except ignore it. I've heard a man in a crisis falls back on what he knows best / A murderer to murder and a thief to theft / I don't want you to think I'm asking for absolution / But running's what I do when put to the test. So I retreated, pretended like it was nothing, and now I sit here in the growing gloom of evening and contemplate, when there are handfuls of friends I promised this day to.
What should I have done instead? It eludes me.
In other news, I realized today that September 15th will mark one full year since I first moved to Chicago. I should do something to celebrate.