Your pain is the breaking of the shell that
encloses your understanding.
The big old spruce that stands behind the cabin reminds me
that both of us grow by thrusting our roots into the darkness
as well as our branches into the light.
I watched a movie a while back, The Yellow Handkerchief with William Hurt. I’m a huge William Hurt fan. I love how multifaceted he is. How he can make me love him in some films and hate him in others. Sometimes he gets me to do both in the same movie (The Doctor). These days he’s relegated mostly to supporting roles in lesser films – a big mistake in my opinion, but never the less, I try and never miss one of his movies. Anyway, watching The Yellow Handkerchief I found myself restless with the story line, eager for it to get to some point, to make some sort of sense for me. In my haste, I almost missed the tenderness of the story, which was really about loneliness and how we reach out to one another, wanting to be loved in spite of all our quirks and flaws and lost virtue.
The movie stayed with me for several days. Not so much for the story line, as for the awareness of what I’d almost missed, and the truth about how often I strive impatiently for clarity, for purpose. And then I felt that awareness catch fire inside me and cause me to question what other moments I may have forfeited in my eagerness to conquer and define? It’s no secret that I’ve lived these last several years trying to transcend my illness, to make sense of the chaos, the pain, always trying to reach that nirvana, that paradise where life itself is grace. But what if life is grace anyway….? (no transcending necessary) What if it’s beautiful and tender and heartbreaking no matter what? And what if the truest thing I can do is to simply let it be what it is?