Rain, rain, Dear Zeus, on the ploughlands and plains of Attica.
It wasn't until I found myself kneeling at Eileen's side, arms rigid and methodical, up down up down to thirty, two breaths, begin again, that I truly allowed myself to think that perhaps things are pre-ordained. Not to the point that we can just coast and trust completely to something other than ourselves, but that we need to constantly be vigilant and look for the path that feels right. And work to stay on it. We say grace every night, and I try to keep it simple like Marcus did:
"God, thank you for the blessings that we don't understand yet, and keep us on your path. Watch over her with a ready sword." The only things that I need.
The life that makes you believe that the universe is conspiring in your favor [it is], the one that isn't necessarily easy but the one that fits. A butterfly effect that doesn't make sense until you gain the benefit of hindsight, the intractable constant of life's longing for itself. [You wouldn't be attached to it for anything else. The dopamine hit of doing good and being good at it. There are so many people who just need your temporary visage to rescue them from the onslot. This might be more important than the CPR because it is ever present.] Not everyone finds that. Not everyone is looking for that. It's hard, scary, uncomfortable, going off in search of it, but the not knowing will leave your prostrate and empty. In life you have to choose your hard. She said, "you have to think of it as though you're scattering seeds. They probably will not all take root. The cultivation is not up to you, once they're scattered. Some will nurture them right away, and they'll take root. Some will let them fester for seasons before feeding them something that sustains them. Some will rot. That part isn't for you to decide." It is always good counsel.
This is the thing that always happens, and what makes me an emotional wreck at funerals regardless of my relationship with the departed. When my part was done and I could remove myself, when the adrenaline dump faded, the thought that flooded my brain was how my life would change if it was him or her. A wild wildebeest seized up in my chest, would have made me prostrate had not so many hands and faces entered my vision, "are you ok take some time for yourself are you ok what do you need." I needed them all to disappear, I needed them to not enter that space in my life, the space that is fallible human. Life's longing for itself. The promise that a life of good deeds will spare me from that kind of heartache exists in a locked box in my chest. No one could offer that so I went back to my office and I worked for the rest of the day and I said probably a hundred times under my breath, "God thank you for the blessings that we don't understand yet and keep us on your path watch over her with a ready sword."
A prayer that simple, or none at all.
"God, thank you for the blessings that we don't understand yet, and keep us on your path. Watch over her with a ready sword." The only things that I need.
The life that makes you believe that the universe is conspiring in your favor [it is], the one that isn't necessarily easy but the one that fits. A butterfly effect that doesn't make sense until you gain the benefit of hindsight, the intractable constant of life's longing for itself. [You wouldn't be attached to it for anything else. The dopamine hit of doing good and being good at it. There are so many people who just need your temporary visage to rescue them from the onslot. This might be more important than the CPR because it is ever present.] Not everyone finds that. Not everyone is looking for that. It's hard, scary, uncomfortable, going off in search of it, but the not knowing will leave your prostrate and empty. In life you have to choose your hard. She said, "you have to think of it as though you're scattering seeds. They probably will not all take root. The cultivation is not up to you, once they're scattered. Some will nurture them right away, and they'll take root. Some will let them fester for seasons before feeding them something that sustains them. Some will rot. That part isn't for you to decide." It is always good counsel.
This is the thing that always happens, and what makes me an emotional wreck at funerals regardless of my relationship with the departed. When my part was done and I could remove myself, when the adrenaline dump faded, the thought that flooded my brain was how my life would change if it was him or her. A wild wildebeest seized up in my chest, would have made me prostrate had not so many hands and faces entered my vision, "are you ok take some time for yourself are you ok what do you need." I needed them all to disappear, I needed them to not enter that space in my life, the space that is fallible human. Life's longing for itself. The promise that a life of good deeds will spare me from that kind of heartache exists in a locked box in my chest. No one could offer that so I went back to my office and I worked for the rest of the day and I said probably a hundred times under my breath, "God thank you for the blessings that we don't understand yet and keep us on your path watch over her with a ready sword."
A prayer that simple, or none at all.
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