Loneliness Blows

When I was younger, I used to write a lot of poetry. A lot. In fact, I wrote a new poem on the back of every Algebra test in 8th grade. My teacher loved them. She was a math teacher, so I am not sure she had any poetic expertise. I wrote mostly about the boys I liked. And the boys I didn’t like. Occasionally, I wrote on more serious matters like when my uncle died. At 15, I abruptly abandoned poetry. In the name of artistic prowess, I felt that the poetry was becoming a type of therapy. It was not written for its own sake. And I’ll be damned if I was going to be another teenager in black clothes writing about the grim world of my preternatural adolescent experience. Truth be told, I should have kept at it. I needed the outlet and the therapy. But my desire to never be a stereotype kept me from poetry and trendy haircuts I would be ashamed of later in life. Such concern for how the older me would judge the younger me.

I don’t think I have ever outgrown it. I never want to be somebody’s slogan. Always, always, always meaning what I say, wearing my feelings on my face, discontent with disingenuous conversation, and craving deep and cosmic connection. If you have read any previous entries on this blog, you could easily surmise that I am critical and opinionated. And in good faith, I am. I would hope that my critical eye is an effort to always find truth and beauty. However, I confess that a good portion comes from superiority. And I hate that. I hate that separation. I hate the distance it puts between me and whatever I have just observed.

If you could boil my basic theology into one word, it would be “inclusion”. Maybe “subsuming” because I like the sound of that word. I believe with all of my heart that God desires and works to include us in his heart, love, will, and work. And we are to do the same with Him and with others. And anything that begins to separate or distance us from others, from Him, and especially ourselves does more damage than we can know. There is fear in isolation. There is calamity that overcomes the human spirit in isolation. And there is a profound lack of perspective that creeps in and settles in our minds.

I also think that our most basic theologies have a great deal to do with our underlying pathologies. I have never been completely the odd man out. I have always been a part of the circle without ever really being a part of the circle. Just separate enough to be discouraged. And just a part of everything to feel paranoid and dramatic. It is has proven difficult to assimilate and also maintain my fierce devotion to being my own person. I know that I crave inclusion and it greatly influences my view of everything, especially God.

All that to say, and that was a lot to say to get to a very narrow point, loneliness blows. This is the toughest portion of the move. The time when you are no longer part of the place you came from, but not yet a part of the place you are.

I watched a lovely movie the other night where a character prayed this prayer.

“Dear God,

All I can do is stammer to You.
I can do nothing but hold out my heart to You.
You created us in Your likeness.
Our hearts are uneasy
until they find peace in You.

Amen”

That about sums it up.