Growing

I have been thinking about growing.

I am less immature than I used to be…
and still…
the same wounds still find ways to surface.
and I don’t even see them coming,
’til suddenly I am angry,
unhappy,
undone.

Therein lies the glory of age.
The chance to do better.
To get better.
To be less reactive, less surprised by my shortcomings, calmer, wiser, surrendered.

What’s that poem by Dylan Thomas? No wait, I’m mixing my messages. I’m thinking of that poem he wrote about fighting off weakness, “Old age should burn and rage at close of day. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Which is lovely – and I suppose it connects – I would like to be a person that rages against the dying of the light. Yes, yes, I like that.

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Mary and Jesus and me.

Life is a cycle, I think, where truth revisits you in new forms, again and again, each time somehow surprising. “Ah, yes, I forgot. How true.”

Here is my truth today. I read a lot, and watch films, and t.v. and observe. And there’s all these people I think I’d like to meet because they’re doing things I’d like to do, or seeing what I’d like to see, or being what I’d like to be. Great romances, and victories, and discoveries. Endless amounts of beauty. At times, I exist in a perpetual restless stage, reading twitter feeds, and wikipedia profiles, fascinated by others I’ll never meet.

Then tonight I went to a funeral for someone I didn’t even know. I closed my eyes and listened to the women and men whisper their prayers to Mary and Jesus pleading for the redemption of all souls. “Let them come home.” And their words lifted and drifted through the open stained glass doors and into the cold L.A. night and up towards the moon. The full moon – that hung gently on the black night, silhouetted by white ribbon clouds.

Afterwards a friend and I, both raised different, he a male, and me a female – different religions, different cities, different life experiences – we talked about Mary. I pondered the idea of her holding God in her body. I mentioned to my friend the way Protestants protest the worship of her, but how there was to me something good about her elevation, considering how damning the church has been towards women all these years, and he, not a Christian, talked freely and generously about the ways in which Jesus was counter cultural towards women and how it’s a shame the church has lost site of that vision. He said more and it all struck me fresh because it was him – speaking from the outside. “Yes, that was what Jesus was doing, wasn’t it? He was quite radical… interesting...I forgot.”

Just a few hours. That’s all that passed. And so much goodness. No need to be restless, unsatisfied – it’s all there, right at my fingertips – everything I need – I am saturated with beauty, overwhelmed by good people, alive, breathing, kicking, feeling it all – life is so good and sometimes I can see all that goodness and I ache.