Going deep with Court

This is a question in a book I’m reading through for a possible confirmation at my Episcopal church when our Bishop comes later in the fall. I say possible, because I fully reserve the right to just not be ready, or to flake out and have to wait until another time. Now, after the first official session, followed by a lovely lunch, it was made clear that my vision of this process is not accurate. I think I was picturing something similar to having to testify in court, like a giant spotlight and the Bishop rapid-fire asking complicated theology questions and, well, nope it’s not that. It’s a lot more chill.  I keep likening this church to the turtles in Finding Nemo, because they are pretty chill about just about everything. As the main instructor, our in-house theologian (and if you read that in a snooty voice, you absolutely nailed it), said there are ‘cross issues’ and ‘everything else’. I felt myself relaxing, man, just ride the wave, chill…..  But back to the title as t...

The impetus for this post will not be shared in detail, because I feel awful. And I feel like I have lost my weight in fluid due to sickness and let’s just leave it at that. That feeling though, when you are sick and the sick is finally- well- out of you. That empty feeling. That is what I am in right now, I hope to dear King Jesus at least or coming to the ending of it, as my bathroom and I have been fast friends for the last hour and I would dearly like to break up with it forever.  Thankfully though nothing else really hurts except my stomach. And not wanting to go to bed and being wrong about it being over and getting sick all over my bed, I sit and think about this empty and calm feeling. I think about how it feels like an emotional thing as well. I guess I mean that through various events there have been things that have just made me feel so full. And not a good kind of full, not satiated. Stuffed. Uncomfortable. Like it’s all just, way, way too much.  I think that one o...

I think we are story-tellers by nature. I like to imagine that the cave drawings were the backdrop to the story-teller and that maybe they would point to emphasize but it was the words they spoke that weaved the tale that needed to be told. And, sure, maybe it was for practically purposes like telling the little ones not to just wander off so they didn’t get eaten. But. Maybe it’s was to tell all the little ones not to wander off so they don’t get eaten. Maybe we all need that. Like. All. The. Time. Stories to help us not wander off and get eaten.  When you feel your way through the world, often with written words as your only cloak, and I believe there are not many people that are both gifted with written word and spoken word-, it’s like you either do one or the other well. Sure you can prove me wrong, but this is my blog and the point I’m making is if I could just write all the things than everything would be a lot better. But. Alas, I have to speak also. To actual people. A lot...

A friend asked me this morning if I had been writing. Of course the answer is yes, it is always yes, but I hear different things in my head at the same time. The hormonal, survival, scribbles in my journal that I won’t really ever share with anyone for fear of being locked up in the state hospital, no, no I haven’t been writing. I think that’s what I said. That I haven’t been. Because I chose to hear ‘writing’ and define it as the prettified- blogified version. And no. I haven’t started another blog somewhere. It has been ugly writing. Processing. Through it, writing.   I won’t really go into the what, cause, honestly the what doesn’t matter. We all go through stuff. We all cope in different ways. I tend to obsess with different coping tools which lately have been listening repeatedly to Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Tusk,’ making tiny books, reading a ridiculous amount of just about everything fiction that I can get my hands on, hand-sewing an entire quilt, and soaking in my inflatable hot tu...