Things Flitting Around in my Brain

A couple weeks ago Bob Zurinsky said that every evening, for two years, he spent two hours in quiet. Quiet of the body, first. I imagine little to no movement: no drawing, reading, knitting. Just a person and a balcony and a man-made canal with a view of city lights. Of course, the quieting and stilling of the physical senses does not immediately conduce a brain to the state of quietness.

You and I both know this. We've tried one with out the other -- hard to acheive.

Bob said that, "At first your brain goes over all your interactions in a day; what you did "wrong" or 'right,' what you said to the last person you talked to. It buzzes and circles and then, that just slowly fades out." (Bob, forgive me, I'm paraphrasing now.) "It was in those moments that I learned the most - that all people are simply broken." Maybe he said he learned the most about himself in those evening-moments too. I don't remember.

All people are broken.
Most kids in college don't like themselves.
Maybe most people everywhere don't like themselves, but I can't speak for people everywhere.

Because, Unluckily, I have only been alloted a finite view in life. Unluckily, I'm not God.
No wait... That is Luck. Blessed Luck for Humanity.

I look at myself alot. In the mirror in my apartment bedroom, in the mirror in my apartment bathroom, in the mirror in my rear-view window, in windows on my way to school, in clear pools of water after hunting in the forests.. (oh wait. That last one is someone else.. oh the long upholding tradition of literature.)

But if I was around pools of clear, reflective water on a daily basis, who's to say I wouldn't be eternally captivated by a peek or two, you know? God, give Narcissus a break. At least he loved himself.

Who reaches that point anymore?

This summer I drove to Chicago with my friends in a car. It was beautiful and sweaty and summer in the first degree. We didn't have to stop to think about the emotions of it at all; we just had to look at each other to know. One rest stop in Eastern Montana we tumbled out of the car and sprawled out on the grass. Babies on a blanket of green. I was by Brittany, (She's a sister friend, I've known her for moments and sometimes for years) I looked at her closely. I realized that I've looked at Brittany alot too. There are things I notice about her face now.

Annie Dillard, in her book Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, talks about Love, and Seeing. She says Lovers are the only ones who truly See. They notice the difference that makes morning and day, evening and night. Mmm, Annie.

Then, I read in Luke 12:7 --
"Why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows." Regardless of human termed issues of predestination, selective salvation, and free will, God Sees particular things about my face. Has seen every hair on my head. I know that at this point in the Western Tradition that is a cliched maxim... but C'MON. Tell me one person who has seen/known/remembered every hair that belongs to you. Name one person.

I think loving is Seeing. And you can give to all the charities you want to but not really See. See people. Call me an idealist but I'm okay with that right now: I'm nineteen.

At first I thought that was my Lucky own idea too, but no. Ideas are all collective, anymore. Thank you Bob, Narcissus, Brittany and Annie.

Sincerely,
Lyndsay
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