I have gotten to the place in life where I realize that what passes for the thought process in my head is actually a surreal landscape of actions and images that I can sometimes see a pattern develop and actually write it down.
Most of what has passed for entries on this blog have been momentary flashes of seeing a pattern and then letting it flow out in somewhat organized fashion. And I have written what I have seen pass in front of me as if I actually understood who I am or what my purpose in life is or has been.
It is Friday and a philisophical day.
What is trying to work it’s way out of my head today is the thought that maybe I am not who I believe I am. Part of that thought deals with how I got to where I am: DNA and upbringing and all that stuff that combines to create a personality.
When I became a Christian in the late seventies, I read in 2 Corinthians 5:17 that “…if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!”
I took this literally to mean that I was a new person—that I had been re-directed if you will—to my God-image and that life as I knew it was changed forever. I can’t seem to find the verse right this minute that talks about metamorphosis and me going from being a catepiller to a butterfly but it is there and for the purpose of this train of thought, duly noted.
But the other day I began to see that who I think I am and who other people perceive me to be can be light years apart.
Which brings me to the point of asking myself who I really am.
On a very basic level, I am a person who has learned to deal with life through a maze of filters and expectations that were formed as I was growing up. Through the dis-function of family and so forth I have learned to cope and function. Through the re-birthing process of becoming a Christian, I have been given a new lease on a life that might have been short-lived and tragic. However, there is a certain bi-polarity that I have come face to face with in recent months.
When I was born-again, all that stuff that I had set in place that allowed me to be “normal” did not evaporate overnight.
As a friend of mine says, that stuff gets smaller and smaller as the other stuff we are becoming gets bigger and bigger.
I began to write a blog several weeks ago about being on the receiving end of judgemental attitudes. It was a little to personal and close to home at that point and I never finished it for publication. I guess we all live and deal with people on an everyday basis who have less than stellar thoughts about us. People who perceive us to be something that we are not or at least haven’t been for a while. Which is why it is a little hard to take when we find oursleves in a situation where we are being painted into a corner in someone else’s mind.
Am I a new creation: YES! Am I still selfish and little to introspective—yes again.
As I was reading a poem by Octavio Paz last night, I was reminded of how hard it really is for any of us to understand the other. How Paz’s perception of reality finds its’ way to the page and with what images he uses to illustrate his thougths and feelings is much different from the way I do. It is really a matter of translation—you speak in one language and I in an other. Somehow we have learned to translate on the fly in order to get the business of life done on a daily basis. But do we really understand one another—what motivates us—what our passions and longings are. Most of us live life as if we do and are rarely ever called to task about it.
Some feelings are so deep we need a supernatural excavation to take place in order for us to even begin to fathom their effect on our current circumstances. As our hurts and wounds come to light, we can either deal with them or ignore them and since they really can’t be ignored we avoid them with work, play and maybe one more glass of wine than we need.
So, once again, pen in hand, I begin to describe the landscape of my past, present and future. It’s all about the wind and the rain—the sand and the sea—a cup of tea and a long walk after dinner while the sun is still shining.
Enjoy your ride.
I certainly don’t understand all of what you say, but I thank you for it because (and I’m quoting you here): “I was reminded of how hard it really is for any of us to understand the other…” And while I do not understand you, my friend, your writings nevertheless generate within me an awareness that I am not the only person in the universe dealing with these identity issues. We share that search. And we build a faith upon the words of the Master who said “You must be born again.” At the same time, we duly note with interest the words of brother Bob, who said “He not busy being born is busy dyin’…”Thanks for sharing the ride. I would have visited you today, but didn’t want to distract you from what must be some serious garden work.C
I guess that was the point as well in writing what I did—the KISS method is only available to those of us who see things as line upon line; which I do most of the time and try to keep it simple or rather try to understand simple.
What I have found is that layer upon layer of experience and subsequent image impression has made it really hard to get to the truth of the matter as it pertains to me understanding what I am feeling and how to overcome when I find myself in a hard place.
Certainly believing the Word is the first step.
I can see why some poets use sort of a juxtaposition of images to get to a deep truth. Or at least open the lid so that we can peek inside and get a glimmer of what it all means.
Great writings, Terry. I’m enjoying your blogs. I hope you guys don’t mind an “outsider” eavesdropping. I think back to our home group meetings and you waxing philosophical. But always with a good point. Glad to see it continues only in writing. Looking forward to more blogs from you.
Welcome to blog-land. That entry is not the most conducive to reading anything more…it is just me trying to figure something out and not really having a clue as to where to start or even what I am trying to figure out.
Deep calls to deep—but sometimes a wave is just a wave.
Thanks for reading.