This morning, I had a bit of a meltdown. Perhaps it was inevitable. To extend my "lock" metaphor, when those upper gates open, and there's all that turbulence in the water and you look ahead and realize that you have committed to a new stretch of river when it really would be a whole lot easier just to back your boat back into the lock and go backwards....you may have a meltdown. What I keep having to remind myself of is that I don't have the power to go forward on my own. A smooth passage down the river can only happen if I am aligned with the Divine, so mostly what I need to do is maintain that alignment and then "chop wood, carry water." Keep the rudder steady. Keep the boat going forward. Don't give up. Do the next thing, some small thing, whatever it is.
But what brought the tears to my eyes a little while ago was a "StoryCorps" story on NPR about a gay couple who had been together since the mid-70's but because of living in Arkansas and the work of one of the men, they had had to keep their relationship secret all that time, until getting married recently. If I heard the account correctly (I was listening in the midst of making breakfast), one of them had kept a separate apartment, pretending like he was living there, entertaining there, etc., just so people wouldn't know where he really lived, who he really was, who he really loved. When you think of the money spent, the psychic energy expended, over whole lifetimes, to try to be "normal," to hide one's real truth, it is just so tragic. I can so relate.
The parallel with my life may be a slight stretch, but only slight. I'm not a lesbian, but "coming out of the closet" can take many forms. You reach a point where you just cannot not be yourself one more minute -- which may be why so much social change is happening now, so quickly. The momentum of people having the courage to stand up and be themselves is growing.
My organ-playing skills are so rusty, and arthritis in my thumbs makes it unlikely that I will retrieve that thread of my lifelong English church music dream. And my voice isn't quite what it was even a few years ago, so singing choral evensong will likely come only in the summer or on a substitute basis. But I haven't lost my passion for the music itself, my particular interest in the music of Herbert Howells, and this indefinable curiosity about the spiritual power of specific places in that country. Writing and perhaps painting or expressing creatively in other forms is still an option. I'm throwing myself into the river knowing that I just must focus, not on the love and time lost, but on timeless love expressed and fulfilled just as well as one can, now! Now is the only time that matters.
I do apologize this week...my blog is being written in a coffee shop to the backdrop of bad eighties disco music. (Smile!)
