Reverb day 6: biting back

#reverbDespite our usually sunny dispositions and dedication to the practice of “assuming positive intent,” we all occasionally find ourselves having to deal with an incredibly unpleasant individual.

While I’m sure you always handle it with the tact and finesse for which you’ve become so well known, I’m going to ask you to step outside yourself for just a moment.

Think back to such a situation: if the gloves were off, how you really would have liked to have dealt with them?

Earlier this year I found myself in a situation where I had to remind myself very hard that not everything requires a response. This is the response that wasn’t needed:

You say that you should have gone with your first instincts and not have replied. I agree with you. I had given you every indication – I had, in fact, explicitly stated – that such a reply would not be welcome. I had said what I needed, and what I did not need. You presented me with what I did not need. I had my reasons, and I considered you very rude to think that you were entitled to override my wishes, in my own space.

Since we’re being honest here, I thought your follow-up, deleting your comment and then communicating by private message, was pathetic. It looked to me as if you were worried that other people might agree with me about your bad behaviour. I have done my best to interpret it as a sincere desire to keep that comments section harmonious, but I find I’m stretching my powers of belief. I didn’t reply to your private message.

You had a history of ignoring my boundaries. I can think of at least two other occasions when you ignored what I had asked for, to give me something that I had asked not to receive, that I knew would be of no use to me. I dare say that you can be forgiven for assuming that I wouldn’t enforce them this time, either, but things have changed, and I am no longer going to put up with that kind of response in my own arena.

I wish you well, but I feel that I am safer without you.

Reverb day 5: kindly cynical

#reverbWhat is the sound of your own voice?

I am not sure that people hear much of my voice. I am a quiet person; I sit at the edges of conversations and listen. Sometimes I have something to say, but not very often. I’m much more vocal online than I am in real life. Or – is that true? I’m a lurker, not a commenter; I read a lot and only occasionally respond. Sometimes that’s because I don’t want to get drawn into drama. Sometimes it’s because someone else has already said everything that I would have done.

When I do, how does it sound? Diffident, kind, amused, sometimes veering to cynical, wanting to believe the best of everything, not necessarily sure that it’s safe. Prone to long words, ellipsis, and sentences that run on and on, far away from the original point. Much like my real voice, really.

If we are going to take this literally, I have recorded my poem Manifest. I am always nervous about hearing my recorded voice, but I find, when I muster the courage to listen, I am not the awful person I thought I was.

Reverb day 4: less than and more than accepting

#reverbWe are all lightning rods, conduits for that which the Universe wants born into this world. What energies did you channel this year?
This year has been about acceptance – acceptance of who I am, acceptance of what other people are.

Everything that I have written this year has, somewhere along the line, been about that, saying, ‘You and I have a right to be in the world, the way we are just at this minute, imperfect, hesitant, apologetic as we are, none the less, there is a place for us.’ All the jewellery I have made has said, ‘Look at this thing! Isn’t it gorgeous?’ Even in my day job I have been thinking about better ways to work with what we already know.

And acceptance isn’t really the right word, either; it goes too far and not far enough. I don’t necessarily want to accept all situations, and I want to do more than just accept people. What I am trying to say is that I want to meet people where they are, without trying to change them – frustrating as that is when those people are not themselves accepting, and are trying to change me or other people. I want to let people be who they are, not who I think they ought to be. That’s what I’ve been writing about all year.

I want to see what is really there. I want clear-sighted love. I want to show that this is possible for everyone. That is, it turns out, what I have been striving for all this year.

December Days (late to the party)

Knowing that my mind would be occupied with Reverb, I’d thought that I wouldn’t have the space to do December days, and was feeling a little bit wistful. I’d forgotten, though, that Reverb (Kat’s version, at least) stops on 21 December, so I can do a mini version. I’ll take it through to Epiphany.

Usual rules: pick a day and tell me what you’d like me to write about.

22 December – the dammit list
23 December – #ChristmasMeans
24 December – How I would like to be remembered
25 December – Contextual theology: faith in what?
26 December
27 December
28 December
29 December
30 December
31 December – Things ending, things beginning
1 January
2 January
3 January
4 January
5 January – Silversmithing class
6 January – word for the year

Reverb day 3: in the now

#reverbIt’s all too easy to put off loving where we are until everything is perfect. What can you love about where you are now?

I’m in a good place, a safe place. I’m warm and I’m dry and I’m in my study, my nest in the heart of this house, with a lavender candle burning, and Tony’s cheesy music drifting in from the conservatory. I’ve got a very long weekend: tomorrow and Friday off, and then Monday and Tuesday, and a party and a show and all sorts to fill it with. Tomorrow I’ll go out and remind myself how much I like this city I live in now.

Eighteen months ago, in the middle of all the terrifying changes, I identified four conditions in which I planned to remain, and here I am: alive, sane, married and employed. The sanity is a bit wobbly sometimes, but the more I remain in the now, the more secure it is.

I came off my bike on the way home this evening, but nothing was damaged except a pair of tights that was on the way out anyway. My bike, my mother’s birthday present, and I, are all intact. Tony ran me a bath and lent me his huge fluffy dressing gown. I smell faintly of lemon bath stuff, and my belly is full of shepherd’s pie, and I’m pleasantly sleepy. My nose isn’t bleeding. That puts today ahead of most of the last week. I’m getting better, and in the mean time I am being looked after in the most delicious manner.

This morning was stunning. I left the house at quarter to seven, and the sky was clear enough for a couple of stars still to be straggling above me, while the dawn was brightening across the river. The red lights and the white lights of the city glowed. This evening it was all moonlight and moody clouds, and there were ginkgo leaves on the pavement.

I like my job. I have reasonable prospects of moving up the ladder. I’ve written a novel. That’s a hell of a thing. I can and will write another. I’ve learned to ride a bike. All the time, I am growing. And, much as I whinge about being ill, I am an awful lot better. I am not just better than I was five years ago, I am better squared. I have discovered whole new dimensions in which to be better. I’ve come an amazingly long way and barely noticed.

I am thinking of various friends who are in difficult places, and wishing (really wishing, you know the sort I mean) them well. I’m thinking of my eldest little brother, whose birthday it is. I am thinking of my ex-colleagues, with some of whom I had lunch today, and how much part of my life they still are, and after I was so worried about losing them all. Thinking, too, about friends from way back with whom I have reconnected this year. I have such wonderful people in my life.

I don’t know how to finish this entry. Every word brings in a new moment, a new now, and each now another good thing. Now is all there is, the only moment that time touches eternity.

Reverb day 2: release

#reverbWhat unfinished projects from 2014 am you willing to release now? (Regret not required.)

I have lengths of silver wire in various different gauges lying around the house, the relics of an autumn in which I didn’t achieve nearly as much as I’d intended. I had so many grand dreams for this autumn, but I had a cold, then stress, then seasonal depression, and then another cold. All that writing, all that smithing, all those things I simply did not have the energy to do… I have done some things. I’ve written about 20,000 words, in various places. I’ve made a ring, a bangle, another ring, a sort of torc thing. I have done some things. I have just not done as many things as I wanted to.

I’m not sure that I’m ready to let go of any of that, yet. Part of that is knowing that they will come back to me, one way or another. These things always do: I have lost count of how many times I abandoned Speak Its Name, before it was even called that. I’ve finished it and abandoned it again, for the moment, trusting that when the spiral brings it back to me I’ll know what to do with it. The same with The Slowest Elopement, which is a book I’ve been writing for even longer. I haven’t completed any projects, because I have been so damn tired; but I am releasing the need to have completed them. I have demoted the whole lot of them to ‘one day’, and that’s fine. They’ll come back to me when they’re ready.

That leaves this other project, this terrifying, overarching idea of ‘real life’, and ‘getting on with it’. 2014 has been huge. It’s a year today since I started my new job, and within that year there has been a graduation, a move, and all manner of subtle readjustment.

I unpacked and broke down two boxes at the weekend. There are still a few about the place, but it is time to acknowledge that this project is, to all intents and purposes, done, or as done as it’s ever going to be. The year (eighteen months/five years) of transition is over. We are back in the same house as each other, and we both have ‘real’ jobs, and we still like each other. Time to let go of Project Grow Up.

Reverb day 1: starting with certainty

#reverbWhat can you say right now with certainty?

Certainty is a word that I find enormously difficult. I have spent so long trying to disentangle ‘certainty’ from ‘faith’ and ‘belief’ that I am much more comfortable with plain old ‘doubt’. Talk of certainty puts me on the defensive, reminds me of all those years feeling that I was a fraud, before I understood that ‘faith’ doesn’t necessarily equate to ‘belief’, and that ‘belief’ that isn’t strong enough to amount to ‘certainty’ is equally valid, anyway.

Go off in the other direction, and the mundane starts wobbling, too. I’m suddenly very aware of how relative everything is. I can say for certain that it is five past nine on the first of December, but then I remember that time is an artificial construct. I start wondering about certainty, and I start wondering what’s ‘really’ true, and before I know it I’m wondering whether I really exist, and what this bottle of nail varnish I’m looking at is made of, I mean, really made of. And that way leads nowhere useful. What can I say for certain? Absolutely nothing at all.

I’m not certain of anything, particularly myself. My mind doesn’t really deal in certainties. As someone who spends a lot of time in a state of mind where it is necessary to discard apparent self-evident truths about who and what I am and what is my place in the world. I am constantly questioning my own perceptions, for my own sanity.

I cannot afford to let myself be too certain. And, even when I come out the other side of all that, what I emerge into is something entirely different from certainty. It’s more reality than certainty, I suppose; a fizzing, sparkling reality that I don’t have to be certain about. Certainty is a state of mind that I can’t produce with any kind of reliability, and over the years I’ve found that I don’t feel the lack of it.

What can I say with certainty? Now, as ever, not very much at all. All the same, I don’t really think that matters.

Advent

Today is the first day of Advent, and, for me, the first day of the new year. I observe both this new year and the one where the calendar flips over to 2015, and spend the intervening month reflecting on the year past, and looking forward to the next one.

My Advent practice for 2014 includes the following:

The Meaning is in the Waiting (Paula Gooder) – a section a day
A Feast for Advent (Delia Smith, yes, that Delia Smith) – a section a day
– Advent candle (starts, irritatingly, at 1; I have burned the tip of it today, for 30)
– responding to Reverb prompts
– making an O Antiphons calendar (at the moment this consists of 21 purple-painted cardboard circles)
– as much rest as possible
– limiting personal purchases and instead making a daily donation to The Children’s Society
– bringing out one Christmas decoration every day

December is, inevitably, busy, and I’m still not entirely well, so some of these may fall by the wayside as I go through this. That’s normal. I hope, however, to be here almost every day, and deliberately, consciously, with myself every day, too.

Mary, Marriage and Misogynist Typecasting

I see that yet another wannabe Dan Brown has dug up an obscure but by no means lost ‘gospel’ that ‘proves’ that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene. I have still not forgiven Rev Arun Arora for ‘we are all broken’ (subtext: ‘but some are more broken than others’) but I have to admit that this smackdown-cum-summary is rather pleasing. I note with some amusement that this particular WDB has plumbed new depths of desperation by going for a text that has nothing to do with Jesus at all, but this isn’t really my point.

I would like to say first that I understand that the insistence on Jesus’ presumed celibacy has done a huge amount of damage. I blame Paul’s short-term thinking, and Augustine. Mostly Augustine, really. I can understand the attraction of a married Jesus for that reason alone. If we’d had a married Jesus, perhaps the Church would have grown up a little more sex-positive and a little less misogynistic. But perhaps it would have been even more difficult for a woman who did not feel herself called to marriage to carve out her own path. I don’t know.

Personally, I find it very useful indeed that there is not much about Jesus’ personal life in the Gospels. In the not-knowingness I find room for my late-twenties-married self, and for my late-teen-seriously-considering-celibacy self. I find room for my trying-to-be-out-bisexual self and for my boringly-conventional-het-married self. I find room for the self who doesn’t have children and for the self who might have children one day. There are hints in the Gospels of Jesus who knew about family life, and Jesus who occasionally had to get away from it all. And, if it comes to that, Jesus who created his own family from the waifs and strays he found along the way.

Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Jesus so much as I want to talk about Mary Magdalene. Why, if we are going to write ‘Jesus’ wife’ into the script, do we have to cast Mary Magdalene in the part? The Gospel of Thomas? The Gospel of Thomas would not be my first stop for sex-positivity or feminism. The Gnostics were a misogynistic bunch who thought that the physical world in general and the body in particular were irredeemably sinful. Marrying Jesus off to Mary Magdalene does not make the Gospel of Thomas any better than Matthew, Mark, Luke or John, look:

Simon Peter said to them: Let Mary go forth from among us, for women are not worthy of the life. Jesus said: Behold, I shall lead her, that I may make her male, in order that she also may become a living spirit like you males. For every woman who makes herself male shall enter into the kingdom of heaven. (Thomas-114)

To be fair, I could see Peter saying that. I could also see Jesus hitting him very hard with the cluebat. The Jesus we see in the Gospels doesn’t need Mary to be a man. Equally, he doesn’t need her to be his wife. He accepts her exactly the way she is.

The wonderful thing about the relationship between Mary and Jesus as we see it in the four generally accepted Gospels is that it has very little to do with the fact that they are of different sexes. Other people try to make it about that but Jesus, in flagrant disregard of the conventions of the culture, sees her as fully human. Her place isn’t in the kitchen. I’m not trying to say that Jesus just sees her as ‘one of the lads’. One of the disciples, yes – but the point is that ‘disciple’ isn’t a ‘man’s job’. In Mary we see that everyone can be a disciple.

Mary shares the good news, she doesn’t cut cucumber sandwiches. She’s defined by her relationship to Jesus, yes, but in the same way that Peter is, or John or James. She greets Jesus as ‘Teacher’. She loves him deeply, but how constricting, to assume that it must be romantic love, that this is all women are capable of! (And then we have John, probably ‘the disciple whom Jesus loved’ – how very quick we are to assume that ‘love’ means something different here.)

If you accept the traditional identification of Mary with the woman taken in adultery (I don’t, personally) it becomes even more striking. If you accept that, then we see Jesus as perhaps the first person in her life (and, it sometimes seems, the last in recorded history) who isn’t interested in who she’s slept with.

I find the thoughtless attempt to force her into this extra-canonical role as ‘Jesus’ wife’ offensive beyond belief. We have in Mary a woman who exists in her own right, and whose existence in her own right Jesus recognises. We have a woman who loves and suffers deeply and visibly, who is brave, who is steadfast. We have a woman who defies convention. Why must we shoehorn her into one?

People have been obsessed with Mary Magdalene’s sex life for centuries. I don’t find this new take on the story any more feminist than the old one. A married Jesus? Fine by me. But as for Mary Magdalene, leave her alone. As Jesus said of another Mary, she has chosen the better part.