Hello

My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.

I don't understand life, and most of the time I don't even bother to pretend to. But regardless of how good or how bad things are going, I find that I just feel better when I roll with the punches, so to speak.

I had this urge last week to tell Fr. Bruce that so long as I got to work with my teens, I was happy, and that the rest of my job could go bugger off. It didn't quite fit into the context of what was going on though, so I didn't say it, but that's the deal. I love working with my young adults, even when everything doesn't quite work out. It's worth it to me, because I feel that even when things go wrong, still showing them a positive attitude is really doing something. A lot of them are so used to things falling apart at the drop of a hat. It's just crazy to watch their faces when things go wrong and I can still smile and say, "It's all good." I love that.

And they help me too. I don't quite know what's going on with one aspect of my job. I was put in charge without being told I was in charge. And I think that similarly the charge has been taken back from me without me being told. I told that to Edy, who's a college student I"m grooming to take over the theatre program when I leave. He shrugged and threw his hand down and said, "Oh, that's just how they work around here." And I was surprised how much better that made me feel. Other coworkers will listen, and hear me, and complain back, and we've all got stories of how it goes... but hearing someone pretty much saying back to me, "It's all good," was just what I needed. So who knows what's up? It'll be fine.

The situation reminds me of a song lyric from Liz Phair: You put in my hand a loaded gun and then told me not to fire, when you did the things you said were up to me, and then accused me of trying to f**k it up.

So I've been holding that gun for a while, wondering what to do with it, and praying and seeking advice, and sometimes just yelling out my frustrations (Michael had the joy of watching me get into the car over the weekend and then berating the steering wheel because my boss had 'done it again'. And it really wasn't the steering wheel's fault at all. Michael thought it was funny, watching me be angry.) But then someone just shrugs and says, yeah, that's what happens. And I thought, Yeah, it does. And I put the gun down.

And I don't really care anymore if she goes on to treat me like I"m irresponsible for the rest of my time here. And I don't care if she yells at me for things I have no control over. And I don't care if she messes things up and then blames me for it. Because that's all on her. It's out of my hands, and life goes on.

And dude, you know I keep saying I won't put my energy into this, but it's taken so much for me to get to this point. All these stages of letting go. I guess it's easier to let go a problem that's over, but an ongoing one will just keep rearing its ugly head. So maybe my next post will also be about how I've finally finally finally gotten over it. We'll see.

In other news, the volunteers are going to Wisconsin on retreat this weekend. Technically the retreat begins this afternoon. I"m at work anyway, cause I got stuff to do, but... well, I got stuff I want to do, but not necessarily stuff I CAN do. But retreat, yeah. We're outta here. Back on Tuesday.

And also, one of my coworkers in HOPE Program is making a documentary about HIV, and she's going to use a song I wrote! Cool huh? Did I brag about that already?

I'm famous.

Dust

Okay, so I spent a few months in this blog going off on random political rants, and I think now is the time for the spiritual. There's something so fundamental, so base, about me, that settles in my gut more than knowledge, more than instinct. And when I can't feel that, I wind up surrounding myself with lots of projects and people and things that need doing and places that need going, so that I feel like I know what's going on and that I have some sort of control over my life. But when I do feel this "something"... well, it's strange. Because I feel in control, but I feel in control because I've let my control go. Something else is guiding me, and I feel very peaceful about that. When I feel that way, I know what's going to happen, I know who I am, I know things that by all right I should not know.

Within a minute after meeting Michael, back before I knew his name, we were off in a conversation about spirituality. My friend Hans and I used to do a poetry exercise called Exquisite Corpse, where you trade off writing lines to see where you wind up. Our always wound up in spiritual realms, and Hans pointed that out to me, saying that with me, it always came back to God. My friend Dan was helping me move back in Murfreesboro and said suddenly that he didn't think he had understood the extent of my spirituality until he took a look at my books. Dan was an atheist, but I don't think he looked on me in a condescending manner once he realized that base part of who I am. After Raul killed himself and I lost my faith in God, Elizabeth, another atheist friend (at the time, at any rate) made me promise to go to church and find my faith again because she said I could not be an atheist and still be Kati.

So is it a wonder that today, the dawn of the Lenten Season that I am contemplating life and death, spiritual life and spiritual death, and suffering, and denial, and accusations and fear and hate, and forty days in the desert? This is the Season of Death. I've studied other religions, but I haven't yet come across another religion where the faithful kill their god every year. And not just kill him, but torture him first and call him a liar and kill him in a most gruesome way. And then he rises again, on his own without our help, and forgives us even before we ask it. And we start out this whole season with a reminder that we are dust, and will return to dust. I think it says a lot about us that we do this every year, but honestly, I think it says more when people do it without contemplating what they are doing.

To me, this is a celebration of the worst of our parts--the worst things that we do to each other--and our expectations that what we do will always be understood, will always be forgiven. To me, this is a celebration of the best of our ideals--that we will be humble and charitable and loving and open and honest and forgiving to others, even those who have been the worst to us. To me, this is a reminder that we are the one, but we should never cease to strive to be the other. To me, this is a reminder that life is short, and yes, we will make horrible mistakes at times, but that good will still come and by God we've got to keep pushing if we want to accomplish anything.

Years after having realized that I'm hypoglycemic, and talking with doctors and finally figuring out more or less how to keep going without those infuriatingly uncomfortable times where I get all shaky and can't think straight, I feel called over and over again to hold a prolonged fast, to wait out the discomfort, to keep going through the weakness, to suffer in the physical so that I can find what's waiting for me on the other side. And I'm afraid. I'm scared to try it while there are people around me depending on me to be responsible for things. I'm afraid I'll be to weak to be both a spiritual person fasting, and a regular person working. I've been afraid to try this for years, always thinking that I need to set some time aside so that no one needs me, and then just do this. But I never set that time aside.

I feel called to the desert. It's a very strong call, very base within me. This is how I know in my gut without knowing in my head or on paper where I will find myself this fall. I feel called to leave my fear behind and see... what I am meant to do, and what I am meant to be.