Random Notebook #11 - Finding a Place for Ideas

 Six years is a great deal of time and even now I am not quite sure I am calculating the gap of time correctly.  I haven’t written on this notebook for what seems another one of my lifetimes—a segment of time defined by events beyond my control.  Throughout this time, I can chronicle the start and/or failure of relationships, world events of immense calamity; the shaping of my life with decisions made that at the time seemed innocent and pure.  I will never be able to understand or piece together the interlocking scramble of symbols that led to so much pain.  Why things turned out the way they did is as much my fault as it is circumstance.  How I came to be from 1992 to flying over the Berring Strait on my way to China is a wonder to me, a marvel of chapters, one after another, although not always chronologically—the story of how I came to be—how I paid (to be continued on a different notebook page—what follows is a break from page 2 to 3).  Don’t know where to begin, but a couple of days ago, while in to separate conversations with different friends I was a little over the top.  I’ve had some time to think about what the attorney said and even as early as that same evening I had already begun to take a new path.  M. felt the same way, and despite my reach to M.H.’s email, and the complete mental exhaustion of the last few days things are starting to normalize.  And I say this with the complete knowledge that “normalization” means things can get really terrible now—in the last few days especially, and with all that is about to take place, normalcy is a pipedream.  Right at this moment, I have no idea what is happening at H.  I thought it was going to be a simple day, but I feel that all this week had been leading to this.  (another break from page 3 to 4 in the notebook—seems like no more breaks until a few pages later).  Work on descriptions.  I want to scream loud.  Most of the days I spend here I have wasted without discrimination.  I have plenty of things I could do, yet absolutely no discipline to carry things along.  Just now I stopped momentarily and pushed this notebook away.  I have picked up several books to read and have put them back on the shelves.

            It isn’t because I don’t have things to do—I have plenty of ideas to develop, plenty of good things to say.  Perhaps what I need is a clock in front of me.  Try to write for an hour straight, non-stop and see where it leads.  All right, I’ve decided that that is what I will do.  For all the stories I have tried to tell, not one actually has gained clarity.  It all seems well enough in my mind, but on paper it all feels and looks incredibly silly.  I shouldn’t judge.  That’s the worst thing.  Sometimes one wants the first draft to be so perfect and that is the worst expectation one could actually hope for.  Three minutes and I feel like putting this down again.  I had a little success last week when I decided to write about my father who is dying.  For one, there was a level of discovery; I had never seen my father in the light of dying before.  Secondly, I found out something about my own past that brought to light some things for which I am irrevocably responsible; this involved having done something incredibly stupid, coming out scot free, but tarnishing another life forever.  Guilt is a value judgment and to share this with other people would mean to hear the lecture regarding guilt, because everyone seems to have an opinion there be a time when people are no longer good; by and by the majority might still be good, but the one’s without scruples, or sense of trustworthiness, is no doubt in the increase.  I pause at this and question myself in what side of the equation do I find myself?  Because one can claim all sorts of things but if one’s actions do not match one’s beliefs then there’s very little to say on one’s defense regarding this.  The other day I was writing about making a change in one’s life.  I believe I argued that some times that change never comes and we are blamed for the “character flaws” that invade our personalities.  At any rate, did I make that change the summer of 2005 and because of that I am reaping this abundance of blessings?  Oh, those moments with M. that feel like all the stars have aligned—that without a doubt is God’s work in my life.  What happened the summer of 2005 is a lesson that once in a while we fall and we are hurt and suddenly this feeling overcomes one and the mind is clear of all darkness and confusion and suddenly the path is open and one makes that final charge, or not so much final but rather cataclysmic and one is purged by God and, despite the fact that He does not make up for what we do wrong, time and time again, He does make His presence known by giving us those moments of complete bliss, like the ones I am having right now with M.  There’s the fear that all will come to an end, but that feeling comes only when I separate myself from the path.  I have the power to keep on the path by prayer and sacrifice, by confessing all of these hypocrisies of mine in prayer.