As I attempted to connect with the sensibility of being in love – I choose points of entry where I could personally invest from my own storehouse of fears – distance, complexity, age and worse of all is unworthiness. One of the deepest sources for me is that of patience: so much to say – so little contact – so alone. It is always one of the easiest claims – to know the difference between waiting and not – to make a decision. That’s not the patience I had in mind – the patience I had in mind was – “becoming”.
There are many things I cannot become, however hard I try. To live as if I could become all or any particular thing is mere delusion. So I am fixed, as a rock, destined to be the person I am – sadness sweeps over me… Yet,
In Existentialism there is fundamentally a twist to the apparent realism and honesty of accepting this limitation. The falseness shows itself as I think of the birth of a child. It was R. D. Laing who wrote that there is a difference between “physical birth” and beginning a human life. Once born, amazingly, there soon follows a process of expansion, by which the “the infant feels real and alive”. The baby needs to come alive, from its own point of view. Without becoming, the first birth is empty. So I have to remember that my life, unlike the rock that knows nothing of being connected to or with, began in a leap of becoming, a leap which I remind myself is completely unrealistic. This holds true for all relationships. Know that I am in search of the last “great” love as a relationship of great importance – the question still stands: becoming.
So the hard edge of patience is the child at birth waiting – despite the complexities of words and the play of intellect – what seems like a life time of uncertainty – to become – alive. With tears and fears I wanted you to see that moment with me – to simply wait.
I am deeply conscious of my stubborn will to control by sleight of hand and wisp of speech – this hard core to my addiction – and my resistance to live with the possibility of Grace, as it would wisen my mind, make tender my heart, and sensitize my spirit – but no. Not for my addiction – would I simply yield myself to thee. I would give over into Thy custody the things that disturb me – frighten me – fill my days with uneasiness and my nights with the kind of gloom and foreboding that challenges my sleep – so I stay awake in misery. This I want to do no more, but I cannot stop – my mind battles – my addiction holds. Besides, I am never sure I can be trusted to close my eyes – so sleep is broken up, shuck up into little pieces for fear I would only awake the same – addicted. To be rid of this fear – to expose myself in ways that would destroy this sick balance is my prayer of prayers. This small seed of your Grace is all that keeps me from leaping in to the void of death.
I wait now for Thy Presence with the silent hope that something may transpire within me and over come this hold of addiction. – Would it but tip me in ways to make for peace – a full night’s sleep? While I wait I search my mind for that memory of those whose lives are a part of me in ways that are direct and sure. I would include them in this waiting moment, but there again, our Father, I am not sure that is what I really want to do. I wait, that my spirit may be clarified and my willingness may be at the disposal of that seed of Grace you placed in my heart.
With all arrogances put side, with all weaknesses laid bare, with all my deep-lying hungers exposed, I wait. I wait for the baptism of Thy Spirit. My continuing to wait gives me inspiration that Grace has not abandoned me. My waiting shows me again that Thy seed grows stronger in my heart. I wait – for if this be Thy will, it is enough, O God.