Last night I dreamt over and over again about my endless thirst. In my dream, I'd drink a glass of water but, because my thirst wasn't quenched, I was stuck in a never-ending loop of refilling the glass and hoping that the next sips would finally slake my need.
I finally woke up, my body's sixth sense compelling me to tread downstairs softly and get a glass of real water. I drank three cups. And then I cried off and on for what felt like hours.
Tell all the truth but tell it slant —
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth’s superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind —
Emily Dickinson
Life's inability to be clear cut and direct has always driven me nuts. I constantly worry about being inauthentic and question my every motive. It's impossible for me to see myself head-on; it is only indirectly, through the reflection of friends or a searing book passage, that I catch glimpses of myself.
One of the Bible verses that always stuck with me from childhood speaks to this uniquely human conundrum: For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part, but then shall I know even as also I am known. 1 Corinthians 13:12. It's what I, and I suspect everyone else, from theologians to Emily Dickinson, is searching for, and that is to find the truest version of myself so that I may connect with others. The impossibility creates a lifelong quest, and how I go about that quest creates my narrative's meaning. That Bible verse, along with the one that follows, resurfaces in my mind as often as do lines from Keats or Dickinson: And now these three remain: faith, hope and love remain. But the greatest of these is love. 1 Corinthians 13:13.
One of the lessons I'm learning right now is how to be a friend. It's a lifelong process. I'm trying to have a more multidimensional version of friendship, one more expansive and complex. Instead of being gendered or neat or pristine, I want to learn how to be fully human in my friendship. I want to show up as my complete self, and for me, that means sharing my fears and worries and insecurities and also my love. Truth and Love are both so dazzling, like Emily Dickinson writes, that they surpass my ability to see them directly. I have to approach them slowly, circuitously, like a butterfly I'm trying to photograph while not scaring it away.
When I am emotionally regulated, it's clear to me that what matters in life is relationship with others. My communion with other people, and with the earth and its creatures. I can share tiny pieces of myself, bit by bit, through the tears, and that seems like one of the most important acts in this life, one that brings me closer to the truth. It's humbling and messy, but it leaves me feeling sated.
Comments