I like to write at least one essay a week, or blog post, call it what you will. But I have slowed lately and I am mixed with a sense of acceptance and guilt. I write for me and I hope that what I write resonates with someone else, but since no one is paying me to write (feel free to send checks or electronic gifts as you see fit) the truth is that writing is something I do because it brings me joy. It is a creative outlet and a place where I can rant or share experiences and growth moments and I believe that sharing what we think is good for all of us – it lets your fellows know that they are not alone in what they think or feel, or it lets them feel that they are not nearly as crazy as they thought, or that they are indeed good and patient or whatever. Our commonality lets us be closer to one another and that is something I value. Sometimes we challenge each other and that is good too. So I have accepted that I can’t always do all of the things I want, there are only twenty-four hours in a day and I like to spend a number of them sleeping, and guilty because I am closing myself off from a thing that I know is good for me.
The problem for me, or the reality and really both is that I have been stuck inside for the last month. Not literally the way the world on the east coast has been stuck. I live in California, I have been metaphorically, psychically perhaps stuck. I know that we are pathetic weather experiencers, running around complaining about how cold it is when I’m wearing jeans with a cotton blouse and flats with no socks. There is no literally stuck when it is 68 degrees and sunny. So I have been stuck in the sense that I have been spending a lot of time in my own head going over and around and within various thoughts brought on by a lot of theological reading I have been doing. I have been stuck trying to understand something that is, I think, beyond understanding. Or certainly beyond an answer.
I know that there are many people in the world who will tell you loudly and at gun point (or other unpleasant weapon) that there is a right answer and they happen to know it. But I disagree. I think, and I have been doing nan awful lot of thinking on this point, that there are a lot of right answers, just like there are a lot of perceptions and experiences and understandings. I see the dress as blue and black, that’s how my eyes work. I don’t understand how you can not see the dress as blue and black because I am looking at it and it is clearly blue and black. But some people see gold and white. I see what I see, they see what they see. Who am I to tell someone else what is real or right or true. My experience is blue and black. That’s true for me and that is enough, that is all I can ever have.
I know what it feels like to have people who are in charge of you tell you that your experience is not your experience, to say that what is true for you is wrong. It makes you feel crazy and if you don’t get away it may very well make you crazy. It would be so much easier for all of us if the heavens opened and the booming voice shouted in every language for ever person on the planet in exactly the words that they could understand: here it the truth, listen, hear, understand. And unless or until that happens perhaps we all need to get out of our own heads, get ourselves unstuck from our insides and be open to the maybe of what someone else understands.