Whinings and enjoyablenesses

I had dinner with my ex last night. It is always good to see him even though sometimes it is very painful to. We watched the present he bought me, a DVD of Hawthorn's finals campaign. Fun times. He is off to Sydney this weekend with his girlfriend, to go to a music festival. He apologised last night for not cooking when we were together. It was nice to receive such an apology. He has grown so much and changed so much. I am glad he is having such an enjoyable time in his life. I am even glad he is in love and that he is having such a great social life. Even though I am jealous. I am tired of the hurtfulness when I compare our lives. When is it my turn, Papa? I'm so tired of this season. If you don't get me out of the mire soon, I will be stuck here like a pig.

My latest Richard Rohr book was inside my letterbox when I got home this evening. Hope Against Darkness: The Transforming Vision of St Francis in an Age of Anxiety, co written with John Bookser Feister. Just the ticket. Mr Rohr speaks to me like few others, and I need some of his vision this weekend. It's been a bit of a slog the last week or so, entering in to some of the more unsafe places in my soul, acknowleding their existence even though I don't want them there. I am tired of acknowledging my vulnerabilities. I want to return back to my old self, the one that doesn't exist anymore, the one that sickness stole.

She doesn't exist anymore, but I still do, whatever that means, and so this struggle goes on, realising the latest steps I need to take to do whatever I am seeing I need to do, which in this case is learning to counterbalance those pockets of unsafety while trying to embrace them at the same time. It has been distracting and upsetting, and to begin the return to some sort of Goddish equilibrium to start off the weekend via Mr Rohr is just the ticket.

I took a blanket and some pillows outside and lay and read. I even had a Nanna nap for 10 minutes or so, until the cooler weather blew in and across my bare arms and woke me up. Like a kiss. There was a certain sweetness about it, being woken like that, and just the combination of the Rohrian words and the Spirit breath and I felt a bit more enlivened. Walked Lester after I woke up and then came home and treated myself to some takeaway and some drawing with watercolour pencils. All small things, done in mindfulness, in some sort of way to restore myself back to a level sort of field. I feel like I unravelled a bit this past week. Or maybe I got put back together a bit better. Sometimes I can't tell the difference because sometimes those two things feel the same. I'm sick of growing. Really sick of it. I want to move on in my life and have some fun. Is that possible?

I know I know less than I thought I did at the beginning of the week, and that despite the fact that I am one of the strongest people I know, this only means that those unsafety pockets have been able to hide themselves away underneath. I am tired of slogging my way through these sorts of things. Sometimes I wonder if I am simply stuck, and stuck in a moment I can't get out of. Where is God in all of this? Is there a method to all of this madness, or am I simply trying to read meaning into things which are just the way life is? Perhaps it is too much to expect that I shall get out into some sort of more rarefied air where my hurts aren't hanging off me like rags. I don't even know who this bloody person is. It's certainly not the me that I have lived with for ... well, all my life! Maybe this is just detox talking, I don't know. Maybe I'm playing the comparison game and coming out losing. Maybe I've just lost perspective. But right now, I just don't know what the hell my life is all about and if it's too much to expect that it shall get easier in some ways. I am finding it difficult to see God working in my life at the moment. And if I could just see that, it would make all the difference.