and the past is a giant fiesta

November 19, 2012

so I dropped into SLC tonight for an evening session, roadtripped it up with PM & Frith and stopped for food halfway and then got there crackling over gravel

and it was the same place as a few years ago and the siblings of some people were there but they were missing

but some people were the same and it was good

 

and I missed- being part of this, you know? the people we’d been, the time we had. I missed hours spent talking till three in the morning in dining rooms over stale milo on sticky plastic tables, faces and bodies and hugs and the wildness of running about everywhere; lying on the stepped well in Fireside lodge and talking about tricky things, pornography, masturbation, abortion. Sprawled on the trampoline in the sunlight with friends on either side and the grass and daisies just below, just out of reach, getting closer every time it bounced. grass and old familiar faces, hugs, sunlight baked into the skin, the cold that cuts and the night sky crammed full of black and stars, so clear outside the city. lying on the middle of the road at night. the wind and the trees. that won’t capture it. that won’t catch how it was. I can’t encapsulate what it was to be young and delirious with excitement and people and experiences, just for you, just here, and singing and harmonies and long sessions sat in chairs with smudgy blue doodlings all over my hands and fidgeting and playing all the games, days and days of games, and the words and the people I looked up to and the people I was excited by, electrified by, and the people I bounced around like a small hyperactive puppy and the people I loved and met and fell in love with, everyone at once, everyone big as one giant hug, familiar as myself as my own skin after a day of metness, after only a day, as if I’d loved them forever. being entirely under the spell that people capture me with, the electricity and the drowning wonder that people are, the fascination. people, mysterious and new and wonderful and wondrous, and tingling with the buzz of so many all at once joy

like an all-day carnival a whole-week party

(can you tell I went there for the people
sometimes the teaching hurt sometimes I slept through it sometimes it made me exhausted I was easily exhausted then too sometimes I wandered into small alcoves and worried at questions and the doubt that always sits in me like a live grey room and sometimes I merely fidgeted on chairs and painted my hands blue and drew on other people’s hands when I ran out of space

and sometimes I learned things)

and I miss being so assured and so hopeful

and I miss the times we had

the people we were, what we were then, all of us, who we were, what we’d been, what we’d all had

what it was to be alive

 

o nostalgia you are halfway to joy that is your other face too

 

.

(and standing there gripping the plastic chairs and slightly alarmed by the electric cellist with the wide dark eyes who was staring in my direction I don’t believe at me but rather alarming nonetheless and listening to the harmonies, raw and changing and lovely, from the boys on either side of me and fidgeting on my black plastic chair and admiring the hair of the girl in front of me, it was long and black and lovely and wavy and went all the way down to the small of her back, rippling and black, and the ankles of the singers and the enthusiastic face of the speaker and

and I was thinking

little by little, I believe less and less.

 

I am starting not to believe, or it has started long ago, and there are many things I find hard to believe now. and when people talk about prayer, I don’t say anything. and when people talk about the sovereignty of God, I don’t really know if it’s the answer to everything anymore. I don’t trust the character or the heart of this God, and when they tell me about Jesus I think about the slow-accruing nature of religious texts and stories, and how all stories can be exaggerated into something people want to believe.

I still think looking at Jesus may come up with some answers. and a part of me wants very hard that this be the answer, that this be right. but want is not truth, and how I’d even know what truth is, is beyond me. and most of me is bruised and cut all over and tired with it, and bitter with it, and I don’t know anymore if I can believe that this God cares. I find it hard to believe.

this is only a little bit. it’s complicated. fear always drives me back to my age-old habit of belief. and what I want and what I don’t want and what I’m reacting against and what is learned and what isn’t and what is habit and everything, everything just gets complicated. It’s no simple answer.

I’m just letting it happen. I think I died somewhere back there and now I’m going to sit here and become, slowly, less and less the person I used to be. and I don’t have the space for thought as to whether it’s a good or a bad thing anymore. it just is. life just is. I can’t- life just happens and then it doesn’t. and less and less I’m looking at what the future is like because it doesn’t improve.

functioning is about being in the right now and we are down to functioning because I don’t have anything to actually live for, be for, be awake for anymore. we covered this. I’m functioning. that’s just life.

)

wheeeeeee. and that’s why I don’t think too deeply about this stuff because we get all pessimistic and grey. I’m going to sleep.

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