Taking Pleasure in Being a Tool
Which means it will probably be around Tylere.
He has seen me cry more times than any other single person besides my mother. It's not my fault that he was always there when bad things happened.
For two semesters straight e v e r y t i m e I was hit with tragedy,
I would bow my head,
and then there he would stand,
and I would just release.
Like that crazy day when two planes hit some building and I was all flustered. There he stood.
One day I was crying so hard he offered me a sock to blow my nose on. "It's clean," was all he said. Usually he just offered me ice cream, though.
So yesterday I popped in My Bloody Valentine (someone thought that that was a drink) and did an extra long yoga session, and when I got to the meditation part I read a Psalm and the book of Habakuk (I haven't opened my Bible in months), and I prayed.
Many of you were in my heart; some of you wouldn't guess you were, but I mentioned you.
I prayed for Asit. Raised with the pageantry of Hinduism and a general disdain for religion which comes from a lack of spirituality or awareness of the possibility thereof and a basic desire to find such.
You know the story.
Then last night he told me he just found out about the death of a friend of his family's. This man had been like a second father to him, and at the time of his passing (on Sunday) I was telling Asit the story of the death of a woman two years ago who had been like my mother.
At the time of Asit hearing the news I was praying he would sense the love of God.
Asit talked for a long time last night, and he told me that he felt a strong presence - which he assumed to be the lingering spirit of his loved one - so he took the opportunity to offer parting thoughts. Thoughts he felt were properly received.
"Do you think that's something permanent?" he asked. "Something to communicate with/ pray to?" Absolutely.
Once again I was utterly brought to my face with humility at how the death of an individual creates a tangible sensation of indescribable hope and comfort. The irrational suspicion that there's more than just sudden death. The overwhelming hunch that there is something you can take with you.
Death inspires better living.
As for me, I felt very impervious yesterday morning. As well as flacid and ineffective. By evening I realized that I'm not the deciding factor for my effectiveness. I am as effective as the God who directs me.
This is all vague, I know. I'm not detailing this well for any of you who don't know my beliefs.
But those of you who know me, know.
Yet I did not cry.
I bought a red Kenneth Cole down-jacket, though, so now I'll be warmer in these ass-freeze conditions.
I talked to my mama; she's in Pennsylvania at her sister's house (do you know how much closer that is to NY than GA is?) and as soon as she answered her cellphone she gave me a guilty, "I was just going to call you...." Because she knew she was doing something wrong to not tell me how near to me she was. I increased her guilt-trip by saying I called on Monday while I was puking my guts out and she wasn't there. Then I told her she's invited to stay here with this family if she wanted to driveto see me.
She tried to make me feel guilty, then, too, like I had things I wasn't telling her. But it's been so cold that nothing interesting has happened. If I had a car I'd drive to Pennsylvania tonight.
I'm loving the Appleseed Cast today.
