Nahhh...

I feel no strong need to blog anymore. New year resolution will have something to do with reducing stress in my life... often stress induced by some sense that I "need" to do something.
I don't NEED to do lots of things.

That is all for now.

A convergence of themes

Many many years ago I wrote a little essay called "No Woman is an Island." It was about how I was realizing that I only really know myself in relation to other people, that a person's sense of self and identity is shaped within relationship. At the time, it was a pretty profound a-ha! kind of moment for me. In retrospect, it seems both obvious and wrong. You can't ever get outside those relationships to evaluate the accuracy of your analysis. So many years later do I know myself any better? Still... the question lingers. Or recurs.

Now it surfaces not so much in terms of seeking some kind of metaphysical absolute, but how we navigate between contexts, relationship and activities... and who that makes us (think we are).

I think these questions were enouraged back to the surface under the influence of two literary sources: Isabel Allende's House of Spirits, and (actually, the film version of) Into the Wild. House of Spirits dealt in part with the recurring themes within generations of a family. Into the Wild chronicles a journey by a young man who touches many people's lives by entering into relationship with them, even while he rejects all forms of emotional intimacy for himself. He walks the line that the (true) knowledge that love/god/the divine is everywhere, but forgets that the experience really only materializes when shared in relationship. He clings to the abstract in defiance of concrete realities right in front of him. He makes his personal discovery of the value of human relationship too late.

This is a picture I took on the Costa Brava just a few days ago. We were walking along a trail on the coast in a little town that I think was called Llafranc Roma (but I could be totally wrong). Everywhere you looked there was a beautiful vista. The Mediterranean shimmered its deep blue in pre-dusk, angular, golden light, surrounded by a fringe of hardy cactus and agave thrusting through cracks in the rocky cliffs.

I was drawn to this little view. The rocks in the water. This morning I think it's more about the water between the rocks. You can't just do well on each of your little rocks. You have to be able to get from on the the next. You have to be ok getting wet in the process. You have to navigate as well in the water as you do on land.

I've been splashing around in the water for a while, forgetting that the water may be all there really is, forgetting that even underneath the water there is a rock.

Teresa took off all her clothes and dove head first into that cold water! I was awe struck at her courage.

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How different a religion inpsired by contemplating water than one whose edicts were delivered on mountain tops.

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random thoughts...