Currently Reading T.S. Eliot Reads : The Wasteland, Four Quartets and Other Poem By T.S. Eliot see related

Two Threads

I have two threads of conversation running through my heart constantly these days.  They remind me when I used to play Pasacaglia out of Anna Magdalena Bach - because it always sounded like a conversation.

One part of me is grieveing all the losses and sorrows and feels shoved aside because noone has the patience or time for me while I'm going through this - yet I feel as devastated as anyone having gone through a major disatster.  It has affected my diabetes and my Bi-Polar - yet even my daughter says "all you lost is stuff." not realizng that it is "stuff that holds memories of even her since she was the age of her own chldren and it is like having my mind and heart erased, or held hostage somewhere - like when the jews lost all their things and are just now - decades, decades later, having them given back to their grandchildren.  It isn't just stuff - it is the legacy with parts of our souls mprinted on it, part of our energy.

Yet another part is thinking of how I always admired the monks nuns of the different contemplative traditions - and of the mercy works - and of the Bhuddists traditions - and of the stripping down and taking on the vows of poverty and spending time in meditation, contemplation, prayer and good works

to be shriven of all that is not necessary till there is truly room for God - and now there is noone watching or caring if I let go and just followed God - because I've always felt that ull -

yet when I was young that calling seemed like an echo of diving romance - and now after years of finding romance so disheartening and disapointing - I wonder truly what diving romance with God would be like - because I reread all the texts and memoirs of the contemplatives and read the painful parts and it doesn't sound romantic at all - it sounds like life and relationship as with anyone else except it is with God with much different results -

I feel like Profrock in T S Eliots poem - well dressed, going from one erudit conversation to another yet not able to make that divine leap into what is truly remarkable.

Afraid of being afraid of what is truly fearful and full of awe.

Hmmmm....