Everything is Holy Now.

98 Ordinary




Linda Irene

Inside the Box


May 19 2014
How I miss the open sky. This box I’m in, it has me contained like the one before this one, and the one before that, and the one before that - the one near the sky but still its four walls held me inside itself, captive. These last few places I’ve lived are a windows to how my soul has been since the pain came.

I confidently smile and hug everyone as they stream in on Sunday mornings, but the truth is it’s just my break from the container. I cross the street to the church and my soul opens to all who pour in. I never forget to be cautious though. It’s not good for them to see me or hear me. Not too much, anyway. Not at all if some could have their way.

But my soul is screaming to be heard and seen and hugged and touched and noticed. It’s hard not to want to touch some remnant of who I was before this place and the pain. I do want to. I want my life to mean something again, instead of something or someone who is only an afterthought or a like a bug that won’t go away, one that keeps flying around getting in the way of them and their pastor.

Seeing the deer at the water as the last evening’s dusk settled upon the land at our friends house last week was the perfect ending to a healing time at their farm. That sky, the grass, the horses, life around me - not speeding engines flying past me in their rush to get home to whatever mindless television they escape to after their macaroni and cheese dinner or chicken casserole. There are three doors to leave this house from, and each of them catapult me right into the line of traffic as it flies past, and the church door. It’s safer here where no one can accuse me of doing something I didn’t know I did - and didn’t. Nobody can be afraid of me. Or judge me. Or find something wrong or that they don’t like about me. Here, I can go away.

I see now why I’ve stayed inside the container. For one, I don’t know where to go. But there’s more. There’s no place that’s mine anymore. Nowhere that I sweat and toil. Nothing I’m the beginning and end of. It’s all gone now = ever since the pain came. I’ve stepped out into the world a couple of times since but it wasn’t like it used to be. I threaten them. Or I’m too much for them. Or too old for them. I’m just not like them anymore. I’m not part of them. I see that.
I’m different from all of them somehow. But I’m just not so sure how.

I’m used to so much bigger. SO much more. Not better, just bigger and more. More sky, more openness, more value, more needed. Mostly more needed.

What I once loved no longer loves me. Not really. Cooking isn’t what it was. Serving others no longer feels like serving. Everything outside looks like empty space. I don’t want to listen to them drone on about nothing and, in the end, be useless and unvalued. Never good enough. I’m tired of being on the edge of the inside but never in and never really out. Inside the edges…with no real place to land. No where to hang my hat and be the change.

If I speak my truth, I will be ostracized. If I don’t speak my truth, I’ll be fake.

i so wanted to make a difference here. I wanted to be the change. Inspire them. Build the body. Remind them and those not yet here who they are. Help them remember their life in God, in spirit, in love. I wanted to help them remember - as they helped me remember too - that we are love, and the joy that comes in our connection. The gift of relationship..in the tears, and laughter, and revealing ourselves to each other. These are the joys of life. These are the highs.

I think we get to a certain age when we go back inside ourselves. We learn the joys were good but there’s not as much out there for us anymore. We see that everyone has a judgment or a fear or a lie about you they want to tell. And it’s in the love, in the soul, in God that we become who we are - if we step outside the door.

I’m so tired of being wary. Of being timid. Of worrying about what ‘they’ will say or watching him live everyone else’s life, never taking a step out into his own. His fear of disapproval is stronger than his love for God or his family but he doesn’t see it in himself. He sold out a long time ago to the greed of those who pay him. Their pressure is greater and more powerful than all our needs and pleases put together over a lifetime. One would think he’d stumble into it and want to change it but he just seems to stay longer and go deeper into his world there. But that’s his world, his life — and I’m happy to be here alone. I can go away into my reading and the big world that lies beyond the screen here.

When we first came here I thought my life would be absorbed and my spirit would feed people here, revitalize them all. But instead I was resented for not being him. Then I was cast aside. Rarely anyone responds to me. Rarely am I thought to be someone who can make a difference. Don’t they know I can? I wanted to? But my insides aren’t as strong as they used to be. I don’t have the power to push through anymore. I bet they feel it. They sense the pain. Nobody wants to get too close to pain. They see it in the weight I shouldn’t be carrying. They see it in the lines in my face. The pain isn’t light. They need to see light.

I’m sad without my space, the sky, the world that always seemed to light me up. The betrayals of my best friends, of the place I loved, of the men I loved, of my own child - it’s all more than my heart and soul can bare.

And now it’s those who say they love God too. Although it’s always been them too. They’ve never been the ones who carry the love. But it is they who have wanted to. They want to love. They want to be like Jesus. They want to be the carriers of the good news. But the good news isn’t always so good. It’s dirty and stained and sad and lonely. And they don’t know how to step out of their container either. They, too, just keep inside it and go out the door where there are no roaring, flying engines and they don’t have to be seen because they’re too fat, too old, or too not enough. They go to the place that receives them. Where their friends are, people they’ve never met but like what they say. Until they meet. They can’t hurt them or abandon them or dismiss them - and even if they do, we won’t notice much. Each day we step a little further into the space that keeps us inside until we blend into the walls that hold us. Sometimes the container melts into me, and me into it. My mind travels to those who write the books and blogs, and continue to drift far into the space we share without souls.

Endless Rambling
Square Peg Staying Present.