shiftless, i sit before the screen, a million things to do and none of them compelling enough to move me from my chair, at least not at the moment. i can hear the hum of dan's earphones behind me, hear him mouthing the words to a song i know, rearranging his neatly organized desk.
my own desk is a pile of...piles. cds stacked haphazardly, paperes sitting atop books sitting atop more papers. everything is dog-eared in the land of kim. there is an instruction manual for a mp3 player i've already figured out, a recipe for beef stroganoff, a code for one of my cameras, my w2 from 2007, a small pink tin lantern i picked up for half-off at the Bibelot, a candle that smells like pumpkin pie, the little brochure from my uncle paul's funeral.
when i open it i see the little card that is placed there--something to carry along, i suppose, in remembrance. it holds what is quite possibly my favorite prayer. i'm not the praying type--i feel that if there is a prescence that is all-knowing, then it will know what i consider thought-consuming, without me putting voice to words.
i'm not Christian, i'm not Wiccan, i'm not anything, really. i don't believe in the here-after--not in the sense of cherubs and harps and angels and haloes. there's quite a lot i don't believe in, come to think of it, but what i do believe in is that people have the opportunity to be--more.
the prayer does not tell me how to be--it is a suggestion, really, a recipe for getting into a heaven i don't believe exists. so why do i love this prayer so very much, then? because it embodies so many people i know, and it is after their image that i would like to model my own.
prayer of st francis of assisi
lord, make me an instrument of thy peace.
where there is hatred, let me sow love.
where there is injury, pardon.
where there is doubt, faith.
where there is despair, hope.
where there is darkness, light.
o divine master, grant that i may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
for it is in giving that we receive,
and it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
good fences make good neighbors.
when i was a kid, probably around 9 or so, i was obsessed with popping a wheelie on my purple bike with the orange-and-purple flowered banana seat, and the little white basket up front. it was a normal looking bike, one that fit the shape of my persona at that time: young, innocent, fresh. why i was so obsessed with popping a wheelie now escapes me; all i know is that i wanted to be cool, to fit in, and just having a normal bike did not allow me entrance.
i'd been an outcast all my life. often i blame it on my deaf ear--i could never hear things, and therefore, i probably was not much of a communicator until later on when i learned how to keep up in a conversation--or at least make it look like i was. my childhood probably was quite separate from others insofar as just that simple fact alone. i think i miss a lot nowdays, but then--a redhead is enough of a pariah without being plump and deaf, too.
i guess you could say that i lived in my own little world for many, many years.
anyway, i wanted to pop a wheelie. my mom warned against it since she'd probaly done it as a kid and skinned some portion of her own body, but as a kid you have to try it and find out the worst before you can believe in it.
i popped my wheelie and then promptly flew over the handlebars. skidded down the pavement on my head. when i looked in the mirror, it looked as if i had a large, red, scabby area in the shape of lake superior and lake michigan. if only it'd been on purpose.
in my mmeory i remember wobbling home, crying. i remember that i was wearing maroon courderoys, and a white shirt--a blouse, with buttons up the front. mom came racing across the lawn, and eventually we went to the hospital, where i threw up before being examined. then i had to stay up for at least 8 more hours, as i'd had a concussion.
the whole memory is tinged with reminders of what happens when you take a chance. i learned on many, many occasions that it's just not good to stand out, but with the genetic predisposition of 1% of the population, i didn't stand a chance of blending in. i could ignore insults and i could actually turn a deaf ear towards bullies, but i heard enough to know my place in the pecking order.
when we were at the mall months ago, my friend rene and i saw a place selling hermit crabs. she put one finger to the glass and the little legs and slender antennae withdrew into a shell the size of a quarter. now when i think of me as a child--ungainly and unknowing--i think in terms of that crab, pulling back, hiding.
i've been hiding a long time. it's something i'm good at. being ignored--it's an art form, really, a form of camoflauge to which the navy seals will never ascend. it's one thing to blend in with the crowd, another to fade into the walls and exist on the fringe.
escaping notice was my own great insulator from the world. some days, lately, i question its necessity, and whether or not that insulator can ever be removed. perhaps at one time it was needed, but now i find that it's a wall over which i cannot see.
i know that other people have these same issues--i've been to the self-help section at barnes and noble. there is so much information regarding building confidence and removing all the blocks people like me erect in order to protect themselves. i've read my own share of those books, listened to therapists, tried to question my behavior.
to remove this wall would take years. it took years to build. some of the spots are patchy, made up of whatever was at hand--holes plugged with gum, caulked with a handful of mud. other parts are solid and smooth, fear and anger poured solid. all of it surrounds me, protects me in the same way that the Great Wall in China protects people living on the other side.
what i suppose i realize, when staring up at my own inner insulator, is that this thing that has kept out invaders and withstood all that crap the post office plods through, has also kept me, quite ably, in.
the question i'm pondering is whether or not i want out.
i'd been an outcast all my life. often i blame it on my deaf ear--i could never hear things, and therefore, i probably was not much of a communicator until later on when i learned how to keep up in a conversation--or at least make it look like i was. my childhood probably was quite separate from others insofar as just that simple fact alone. i think i miss a lot nowdays, but then--a redhead is enough of a pariah without being plump and deaf, too.
i guess you could say that i lived in my own little world for many, many years.
anyway, i wanted to pop a wheelie. my mom warned against it since she'd probaly done it as a kid and skinned some portion of her own body, but as a kid you have to try it and find out the worst before you can believe in it.
i popped my wheelie and then promptly flew over the handlebars. skidded down the pavement on my head. when i looked in the mirror, it looked as if i had a large, red, scabby area in the shape of lake superior and lake michigan. if only it'd been on purpose.
in my mmeory i remember wobbling home, crying. i remember that i was wearing maroon courderoys, and a white shirt--a blouse, with buttons up the front. mom came racing across the lawn, and eventually we went to the hospital, where i threw up before being examined. then i had to stay up for at least 8 more hours, as i'd had a concussion.
the whole memory is tinged with reminders of what happens when you take a chance. i learned on many, many occasions that it's just not good to stand out, but with the genetic predisposition of 1% of the population, i didn't stand a chance of blending in. i could ignore insults and i could actually turn a deaf ear towards bullies, but i heard enough to know my place in the pecking order.
when we were at the mall months ago, my friend rene and i saw a place selling hermit crabs. she put one finger to the glass and the little legs and slender antennae withdrew into a shell the size of a quarter. now when i think of me as a child--ungainly and unknowing--i think in terms of that crab, pulling back, hiding.
i've been hiding a long time. it's something i'm good at. being ignored--it's an art form, really, a form of camoflauge to which the navy seals will never ascend. it's one thing to blend in with the crowd, another to fade into the walls and exist on the fringe.
escaping notice was my own great insulator from the world. some days, lately, i question its necessity, and whether or not that insulator can ever be removed. perhaps at one time it was needed, but now i find that it's a wall over which i cannot see.
i know that other people have these same issues--i've been to the self-help section at barnes and noble. there is so much information regarding building confidence and removing all the blocks people like me erect in order to protect themselves. i've read my own share of those books, listened to therapists, tried to question my behavior.
to remove this wall would take years. it took years to build. some of the spots are patchy, made up of whatever was at hand--holes plugged with gum, caulked with a handful of mud. other parts are solid and smooth, fear and anger poured solid. all of it surrounds me, protects me in the same way that the Great Wall in China protects people living on the other side.
what i suppose i realize, when staring up at my own inner insulator, is that this thing that has kept out invaders and withstood all that crap the post office plods through, has also kept me, quite ably, in.
the question i'm pondering is whether or not i want out.
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