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Enveloped in enigma. I didn’t want it to happen like that. But it did anyway. Pages from my life’s story were ripped from my hands, and I was powerless to do anything about it. And with these pages went my face. What remains is but an apparition, an amorphous visage, of what was once a clarion countenance.
I could lay out my story, in part, from faint memories that haunt me with their persistent pleas for recognition, for some validation of their now trivial existence. But others have re-written my story for me. They said it was too dangerous to affirm what was once manifest, but now carefully camouflaged. With the avulsion of my face, a new one was crafted with the same surgical skill used to remove the former image.
And they took my voice too. It wasn’t enough to simply supplant the superficial. No, they had to delve deeper and smother every vestige of vocal tone I could call my own. I must be muted. No longer could I be me. I had to live a new life – their life.
Over my barren soul they layered papier-mâché, a convincing construct, whose only truth is that it is wholly a lie. “But this is the price of your freedom” they muttered. But why does it have to cost so much? Why can’t this scandalous truth be embraced by the light? Is it still too treacherous? And whose life plummets for your preservation? Mine, if there still is a “mine.”
Everything that was me they laid waste to with calculated cunning. The scattered shards of my soul puncture and bleed my callous feet as I try to stagger away from the life that was once my own. I must bury me. They have provided the casket and will surround it with soil if I will but lay myself into their sepulchral solution. Solution? For whom?
Content with my extinguished existence, they celebrate their triumph over my troubles. They congratulate themselves on delivering their duty, my erasure. “Another case solved. Another tragedy averted” they exclaim. But it is I who starts over. They just continue, lives uninterrupted and unencumbered.
Casually they comment, “You have done the right thing by preserving justice and bearing bravery.” My consolation is isolation, my reward reinvention. But I find no comfort in this novel, lonely life – no reward in starting anew by denying my distorted history.
I was once. Really I was. I am not now. Really I am not. An amorphous façade, enigmatic by necessity, not nature. A fictitious face, forced by fortune, not by fidelity.
11 comments:
Oh, Nathan. I felt so many things as I read this post. I felt shock. I felt awe. I felt anger. I felt indignation. I felt denial. I felt fierce. I felt warring. I felt sadness.
Because I honor you, I will not try to offer words of solace. I will not try to provide answers. How could I? You speak of an experience so deep and so close and so private that just giving it SOME words must have been incredibly painful and scary.
You are a beautiful soul, my brother friend. That you spoke these words into existence makes me want to stand up and applaud you.
"I must bury me." I keep staring at that line. It makes my heart weep. It makes me shout, "NOOOOO!!!!" And yet I know the act of confessing these words is like taking a shovel and scooping away chunks of dirt lying on top of that long-buried casket. An excavation is in process, perhaps?
My love to you, brother, on this day of bravery and boldness.
I don't know if you noticed Nathan, but this is a psalm. It is the stuff of scripture. A lament psalm. It is solidly within the range of faithful responses to trouble and sorrow. I'm glad you found a place for it. I wish I could change it or make it better but I can't. So I'll just be present with you here and say, "Yes, I understand."
Nathan, your soul is a beautiful place. Reading this gave me the feeling of walking around in a beautiful yet ruined old castle somewhere on the barren coast of Scotland. I felt anger, wistfulness (for you) for what could have been, and a deep, deep sadness.
I kept coming back to, "everything that was me they laid waste to in calculated cunning." Reading that, I feel like I can almost SEE what's been done to you. And I, too, can do nothing to stop it. But I want to lift up the one who dares speak these words today. I, too, am here.
Nate
This blog is really intense and really in-depth. One thing I can feel from you on an on-going basis is a sense of being alienated from the whole "church scene" because you feel totally misunderstood and unable to live among the elite. I have known you for years now and I have never stopped hearing your anger at being forced to wear a mask just to please people. I just hung it up all together, At a point I didn't even try to fit in anymore. I remember walking in to a small church one day, one that I used to attend on a regular basis. I had stopped going to church all together and had been absent for 3-4 years. My life was turned upside down and I was going through my own private hell. I gain the nerve to just try it one more time, and the sermon of choice that day was on giving money. Do you know what kind of indignation I was forced to contain, (until the sermon was over)? I was sitting there stewing with every word that proceeded from their mouth. I thought to myself, my life is so goofed up, I am miserable,I just wished I could see a glimmer of light. And I am forced to hear this bull#@*& about giving my money to God. GIVING MY MONEY TO GOD? What the hell, I can't extend a prayer to God must less give HIM money. Frankly at that moment I was so pissed off at God, my only thought was, haven't you got that backwards shouldn't God be giving ME money, hell He is Heaven He don't have an electric bill to pay. Now I know that may be a little over the top, I know that we should give to God but at that moment that is the last thing that I needed to hear. And at the end of that faith-filled sermon there was a quiet pause at the end of a pious prayer and I raised my hand and I could tell that people were holding their breath because I was notorious for speaking my mind, and I openly challenged the preachers sermon. Of course he was polite and one of the pious members cut my comment off with a boasting statement of how much they give and slung some indirect mud my way. I said oh well, I guess that is why YOU ARE RIGHTEOUS AND I AM A SINNER. Well that comment went over like a lead balloon. I said all of that Nate to say while I will honestly say I can't fully understand everything that you are saying here I can only relate to the part that I "feel". I know that we were talking earlier about our "coffee shop companions" that they were different than the religious norm, and how their comments are a form of salve to some wounds. Words can heal and words can kill, and the only difference is the spirit behind which they are spoken. Clayton wrote some beautiful comments to me. All of the group have spoken beautiful things. The difference is all about the spirit behind the words. Nate and I were discussing this we were talking about how people can give you advice out of their own selfish notions of changing you. It is like someone must try to fix you because the pants you are wearing are too small and they are in public with you and your crack is showing, so to alleviate their own despicable humiliation they quickly scornfully warn you of your public indecency. So I do not gather that the "group" has this attitude toward others. The honesty and the love bubbles over of genuine concern not pious hype that are clouds without rain. Nate and I were talking of people we have had in our lives who are determined to fix us because we try to be just who we are around them. I recently had someone who I used to go to church with come back to town for a visit and I made sure I avoided them at all cost. I jokingly said to Nate, If this person comes around I know for sure they will be throwing holy water on me and I am not Catholic, nor are they. There is only so much of raw that some people can take until their religious mind blow up. I am sure that I have caused some to blow a fuse. But all I can be is me. How can I go around proclaiming that this or that has changed in my life when I go home and face the mirror and it cannot lie to me. I so much relate to Kirsten's comments on one of her blogs where she pours out her frustration with knowing what the scripture says but sorta being irritated with God that it says what it says and just simply don't feel like hearing it at all. So I must end this book.
feeling you again on a gentle calm of this storm not knowing where are we now and where is this going and are we closer to the beginning or the end?
"It is like someone must try to fix you because the pants you are wearing are too small and they are in public with you and your crack is showing, so to alleviate their own despicable humiliation they quickly scornfully warn you of your public indecency."
Tammy, I hear the anger, but I'm so impressed that in the middle of it you pull out this hilarious metaphor. I don't really know your story or Nate's story, but the feelings sound familiar. I think in the end, everyone's ass is hanging out at least a little bit, and the most human thing to do in those situations is to provide a safe place to laugh about it. or cry.
Rather than betray its title, this blog was deliberately left sketchy and cryptic – its intent impression, not mere information. I did this because I wanted everyone to be able to read in his or her own story here. I also did it because I cannot tell my own, not fully. Although I employ some metaphor here, much of the information is not allegorical. Real events transpired in a once-real life that, regrettably, must remain enigmatic. But if I can impart an impression, then not all of it has been said in vain.
Christianne,
As always, you make being open easier. I value your thoughtful comments. I’m glad the words evoked emotion; it tells me you connected with them.
Terri,
Your presence and understanding mean a lot to me. There are few things more painful than a lonely lamentation. It feels good to know someone hears my cries. You're calling is cogently confirmed.
Sarah,
I look forward to getting acquainted with you. Ruins, even in a place of desolation, can testify as a memorial to what once was and what might be again. Your description is poignant. Thanks for taking the time to glance through my spectacles.
Tammy,
Your friendship continues to be a source of steadfast strength. I’m grateful that I have you – especially during this nonsensical time in my life. Better real than religious; that’s you, and that’s what I need.
Di,
Your words are short, but their impact far reaching. You pose a good question. I’m just not sure that there is an answer of like kind.
Nathan- I can’t know your specific experience, but as humans we all share a common pain. We all do what we must in order to survive (until we find another way). It seems inadequate, but I offer you my presence and support.
sometimes the answer to the question is really truly not yet
meaning it is there to be realized in a timing that is not ours alone to know
we learn to wait...
what you wrote here is so personally yours yet was able to draw out the deepest question of mine of ours of this moment in time
it's about being on the inside of each other
again
perichoresis feels itself through another ~ it is divine
it calls out of another that which is not yet as though it were
Nate, you humble me with every word. I could never claim to know your pain and can only share it through the words you give me, but the only thing I can offer you is letting you know that as long as you write them I will read them and I will care.
Your writing is nothing short of amazing and what you chose to share through it is nothing short of powerful.
Thank you for the transparency and for allowing my soul to find a friend in you.
Andrea,
You're always gracious . . . and always welcome.
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