the word, the pebble rolling in the dark

One of those epiphanic moments this morning.

The past year has given rise to a continual paradigm shift - slower than my usual, haha.  A year ago the realization that I hated the life I was living crystallized into a hard, clear purpose.  A year ago I glared at the cracked and peeling walls of the derelict classroom that choked my days with stress and marker dust and suffocated my nights with dread, and began, quietly, to pack my things, to take down a poster here and there, to throw away unneeded papers, to fill the space underneath my desk with boxes for keeping and boxes for tossing.  A year ago I clamped my being around the hard little kernel at the center that said "I will not do this anymore" and started digging a tunnel out.  A year ago I said Fuck this, and started poring over my resume, picking and choosing the best words from which to forge a new life.  A real life. A life I chose freely and on my own terms. A year ago I walked through the old halls reeking of chalk and asbestos and pointlessness with a lighter step, bore up under the chaos in my classroom with a little smile, holding a warmth in the pit of my stomach that said, I am getting out. 

And I did.  Quickly.  It has gone extremely well.  I love my current job and am discovering a wealth of skills and talents I had never given myself the opportunity to know I possessed.  I have a more satisfying social network.  I am dusting off and resurrecting my hobbies.  I am free of the old, unfulfilling, hollow relationship that I was in at the time, and freeing myself from the neural pathways that built it.  I feel powerful.

And more neural pathways are changing.

A long time ago I wrote a sestina.  Sestinas are HELL to write - and I imposed even more structure on it than is mandated (iambic pentameter, three pairs of binaries to contrast at lines' ends).  I thought of that sestina this morning as the epiphany blew through me like a sudden cool breeze through an open window.
_____________________________

Monday, September 15, 2008

I hope this letter finds you well. Today
when I first woke, the morning still was dark
and as I held my breath I heard the water’s
clear monotone still covering the earth.
I wanted to cocoon myself in rest,
but then a black bewhiskered face yowled, "Work!"

So blearily I rose and went to work.
I had a lovely time, though, yesterday –
I shopped for things to complement my rest
and candles to illuminate the dark.
I like the autumn afternoons, when earth
contracts to just the self, the house, the water.

The softened candle glow winked on the water
as I rinsed off my hands and got to work
preparing dishes from across the earth
(Moroccan stew). The chilly, sodden day
felt warm and bright. I looked into the dark
outside the window, peaceful and at rest

while Simon cleaned his paws and, owl-eyed, rested
beside my feet. I put the kettled water
on high for jasmine tea and sipped the dark
and bitter brew, glad not to be at work
but home: on such a nearly perfect day
more than content to be upon this earth.

It seems, sometimes, my days upon this earth
are growing shorter. Sometimes, restlessly,
I want to stretch the miles beyond the day,
stare over new profundities of water
in windblown freedom. But, for now, my work
is waiting for the Word dropped in the dark.

The Word, the pebble rolling in the dark
is yet to come. I bent and wiped the earth
still wet between my toes and thought the work
of rendering a sabbath gives the rest
of life its still point. Turning like the water
that drained into the sink, I saw the day

lay down its head in darkness, while the rest
of sky and earth gave way to moving water.
It was no work to smile at close of day.

_______________________________

The word, the pebble rolling in the dark.  All my life I have been waiting for something.  Some sudden oracle, some clear bell tone to draw my attention to my purpose, some Road to Damascus moment that will finally show me where I belong.  Long after my faith evaporated and dissipated into the clear air of reality, the idea that I have some certain task to do persisted. 

It has kept me restless, on edge, always looking to the horizon, always holding loosely to whatever placeholder job and placeholder living space and placeholder life I seized in the moment, knowing that I needed something to pay the bills and pacify a need for present happiness while I kept my vigil.  Maybe it's the effect of giftedness; I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up; I only knew that I wanted to change the world; and since I was good at pretty much everything (except dancing and sports), I had no clearly defined career path to follow.  Maybe it's the effect of my place in the Millennial generation, having grown up hearing that I needed to do something amazing and transformative and I could be whatever I wanted someday.  Maybe it's the effect of a fundamentalist Christian upbringing that instilled in me the (harsh) promise that God had designed me with a purpose (but wouldn't tell me what it was).  Maybe it's the effect of growing up in a dysfunctional home, where my potential remained largely unfostered (Jeff once said, his voice unusually hoarse, "When I think of what you could have been, if you'd had a supportive environment..." and then trailed off into silence for a moment before blinking hard and shaking his head and saying, "Well. There's no use thinking like that").  Maybe it's all of those things, and something a little more.  Whatever the reason, I have spent my life with my hands absently on the present and my eyes fixed on the future, impatiently viewing the long distance between them and feeling the eternal restlessness moving under my skin.

But this morning, reflecting on my own line of poetry (omg such an egoist), it came like a bell: The word, the pebble rolling in the dark, will never come.  I have been waiting for an answer, but there is no answer.  There's just...me.

So I don't have to wait anymore for a direction.  I can strike out toward the horizon in any damn direction I choose.  And right now that means staying put, and finally fully investing in where and when I am. 

My long-term plans will always be open-ended.  The restlessness will never vanish -- I think it stems not from a desire for a prescribed purpose, but from a longing for adventure and muchness, a longing for growth and change, a desire to forge meaning and belong to something big --  the soul of a pioneer.  But I can embrace that aspect of my personality AND live fully in my own circumstances.  I can give myself adventure and muchness and remain open to new opportunities while also truly settling in to my job, my dwelling, my social surroundings, my coummunity. 

Like Alice in The Magicians, I have spent my life holding back; "even I don't know what I'm capable of."  And as with Alice, it's time for me to find out.

This is going to be fun.  And transformative.  And engaging.  I am finally going to live, as I choose to live.

And that's the word, the pebble rolling in the dark. This morning it finally bumped up against my toes, and I stooped to pick it up, and held it cupped in my palm to see that it's only, after all, a plain little stone. No grand edict, no manifest destiny. Just something small I can hold in my hand, or put in my pocket and take with me while I walk, or cast aside altogether and let it rest with the other stones while I make my way to wherever I want to go.

I am here, and I am now, and I don't want to be anywhere or anywhen else.

And this, maybe, is freedom.