Changes and God and Stuff

My life has changed a lot over the last several years. Looking back on previous posts I see a girl who was all for outwardly expressing my love for God. I don’t see that in myself now. Sometimes I wish I did. But when I think about it, I’m not even sure I knew who God was then. I’m not sure I know who God is now. But I do know that I would like to find out.

Caring Again

I could never stop caring. Even when I want to, my heart burns inside of me with the pain of those around me. Even when I want to believe that I could focus on my own pain, my own problems, I still feel what they feel. I know I’m not literally feeling it. But I cannot help but imagine what they are feeling, to want to do something about it, even in situations when I can’t.

I remember the time I killed a spider. I do it all the time and I never think twice. But there was this one time. I let it live in my window for a month and a half until it got cold. At first it would run away when I would open or close the window, but gradually it got used to me. I had never hurt it, so it just stayed still. I became afraid that it would come all the way inside as it grew colder, I guess. But what could it really have done? But out of my concern for myself, I killed it. And it sat there and let me. It knew all that time I wouldn’t hurt it because I never had. And then I did. Worse than that, I killed it. And it didn’t even move an inch when I came in with a tissue to end its life.

That may seem petty to you. Ridiculous that I would even care about something that stupid and small. But I can’t help but feel as though I betrayed something. I let my concern for myself override my compassion for others, and that one instance has bothered me for the last three years. It doesn’t mean I never kill spiders. It just means I don’t let them trust me and then kill them, and if I can avoid killing them, I do.

You might think I’m one of those crazy people who is all for not killing anything at all under any circumstance. But stay with me for a minute.

As I drove home today from school, I had a lot weighing on my mind. But I tried not to let it undermine my happiness about my graduation. And then I saw this deer. It had been hit by a car and was still in the road. But as I passed, I saw it move. Its breath steamed in the cold air. It was still alive. Just lying there, waiting to be hit again at the bottom of a hill. I did everything I could think to do, and the man who had hit it came back to end its life. I was just glad it wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.

I could have kept driving. I could have thought, I’m not equipped to do anything in this situation, so I don’t need to try. I could have said that it wasn’t worth it or I could have ignored it in order to continue focusing on my attempt to remain happy. But I couldn’t do that. How could I put my own happiness before something like that? It didn’t even enter my mind.

I am moved by compassion regularly. People tell me it makes me a good person. But does that really define a good person? Shouldn’t people just feel that way anyway? But I get caught up on things just as much as other people. It isn’t till it’s staring me in the face, just like tonight, that I am moved enough to act.

It bothers me that I let things pass so often that I could have prevented or at the very least helped with. And it bothers me that it can be so easy to just ignore the suffering in the world. It bothers me most during the times that I find myself unable to ignore it. When I feel so strongly about something that I can’t let it pass. Because I don’t know why I can at other times. And I don’t know how people can every day. How can we pass something or someone suffering and do nothing or think that we can’t or shouldn’t help? I can’t understand the feeling. And yet I feel it in myself. Sometimes I want that. Sometimes I don’t want to have to deal with the death and suffering this world throws at us, as though if I ignore it, it’s not really there because I am not thinking about it. But I simply don’t have that option.

Death is a part of this world. Suffering is a part of this world. Pain is a part of this world. That’s the reality of it. And if that’s reality, then isn’t there anything we can do about it, that we should do about it? Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like as people who say we follow God, we should be willing to put ourselves aside a little more often for the sake of those around us to alleviate the suffering we see in the world. Or at the very least to not add to it.

Remembering What was Never Forgotten

Sometimes I feel as though I have forgotten what it was like. I wish things would go back. I ask, “Do you remember when…?” and I ask, “Do you remember the first time we went…?” You fill in the blank. I’ve said the words a thousand times, because I feel so different now than I did then. I feel like I lost something over time. I feel like everything is different. I feel like it will never be the same. And I’m right. Nothing ever will be the same, and everything really is different. I am different. But I haven’t lost anything.

There are moments in time when I feel like I have remembered. I feel the same. I feel that this is love. But what I have failed to realize is that love changes. I cannot feel the same as I felt then because it is not the same. And it never will be. In two years, I will not feel the same as I do now because things will be different. But in that moment when I felt I remembered, I was not remembering what I thought I was remembering. I was remembering a feeling. I was not remembering love because I couldn’t remember love. I cannot remember what I have never forgotten in the first place.

Forgetting What was Never Remembered

I hate when I can't remember things. Like when I got the strawberry Chapstick, or where the apple-flavored sucker on my bed came from. They trigger a memory and I know I've seen them before, I know they are mine, but I don't know when I have seen them and I don't know why they are mine. The memories are less like memories and more like pieces, flashes of something never quite remembered. The candy is in some way connected to my boyfriend and the Chapstick came from Walmart. Perhaps such meaningless trifles aren't worth the worry. Maybe it shouldn't matter that I don't remember something as useless as where an apple sucker came from. Yet it seems to spread.

It does not spread like an infectious disease, spreading from memory to memory until I have none left. I remember a story of what happened at work, but I don't know what day it happened. It is not that I forgot. There was never anything to be forgotten. It is not that I am losing my memories. I am losing the ability to remember. I cannot forget what I never remembered in the first place.

Remembering What was Never Remembered

Sometimes I feel trapped. Trapped in a moment of indecision. It reminds me of a character in a book, feelings induced by words on a page, fodder for the imagination. Some of my strongest memories are not memories at all, or at least they are not my own memories. They are images and sentiments recalled only from words I have read or words I have written. I try to recall the memory, to flesh out the feeling in my mind, only to discover that it never truly existed, therefore it can never be fully felt; it can never be a completely realized thought. At times it is almost disappointing. I love that moment when I am about to remember something. On the brink of recalling a forgotten memory, I pause, physically and mentally, waiting for the familiar feeling of recognition, the understanding that follows my remembrance. When it never comes, it's like waiting for a beautiful promise to be fulfilled only to come to understand that it will never happen, that it never can happen. I cannot truly remember something when it was never mine to remember.

Caring

I remember why I stopped caring the way I used to.

It hurts too much.

Sometimes when I'm sad I still feel it.

Feeling every person's sadness.

Enduring every person's pain.

Experiencing the sorrow of each person vicariously.

It wears on your mind.

It wears on your emotions.

My own pain is more than enough.

Yet I have lost all sense of empathy.

Only my own pain matters.

Only my own sorrow.

Only my own hurt.

And then I become the person I am today.

The person who doesn't care.

Stasis

Sometimes I forget that the plans I make will actually be fulfilled. The plans seem so far off that that they may never happen. Or they seem so far away that I imagine on that distant day the task will seem easier. Yet it never is. I do not change as drastically as I always expect that I will. I imagine myself becoming more outgoing, more productive, more capable. These ideas never come to fruition. These are the plans that I make that never happen. The ones that would make life easier. The ones that would make me a better person.

Noises

There is more noise than you would think would be bearable, or at least be capable of being slept through. In actuality, it fills the silence, the stillness of insomnia. That lack of anything that keeps you awake at night. The water filter in the fish tank bubbles on unchecked. The fan in the window makes whatever noises fans make in a manner that is louder than any other fan I've ever been forced to sleep to. But the heat and the silence keep it on. The air was still and thick this evening, almost as though it had captured the essence of the entire week in one room in one building in one moment in time. How strangely my feelings have changed. I used to think I would be bothered that I wasn't leaving too. But what has affected me most is not my lack of finishing but their departure. The thought of a person comes to mind. A person I rarely see. I realize that is what I will miss the most. The random encounters. The "hello" in passing. I will never experience them again in the same way. The air holds the nostalgia. The fan keeps it at bay, as though it were some positive thought or some encouraging word.

Existential

I find it disconcerting that I will never be another person. I think of a person who I have forgotten existed. It isn’t difficult to do, to forget someone exists. They may not forget, but I do. And when I think of this person it startles me to realize that they have existed all along. And I think that it must be drastically different to be that person than it is to be me. But I will never know, because I will never be that person. It’s not that I want to be that specific person, or even that I don’t want to be myself. But a strange feeling enters you when you realize you will never be anyone else. You will never know what that person thinks. You will never know what that person feels. You will only ever know what you think, you will only ever know what you feel. And that person will continue to exist whether you remember them or not. Any idea or concept of the world in which you imagined it centered on you is shattered by this knowledge. It may not be something you consciously think, but it is there: the idea that your consciousness is the only consciousness. The idea that without you the world would no longer exist because you would no longer be there to perceive it existing. When I spell it out it doesn’t make much sense. But it is there nonetheless, and it is there because of how limited I am. Because I will never be another person. The world only exists to me because I am here to perceive it existing.  And the people I forget, to me do not exist. Yet that has little standing in the world. In fact, that is possibly the most disconcerting detail about this realization. The fact that to many, I do not exist. Were the world dependent on one person’s consciousness, it would most likely not be mine. And I would most likely not exist. Because another person would never be me.

Evenings

I was watching the lightning in the north sky. It might have been heat lightning. It reminded me of last night when I watched the lightning tear through the sky, the same sky, both brilliant and terrifying at the same time. The fact that I was driving didn't help the matter. The thought of being struck pervaded my mind much of the trip. But this was different. It was far away, not causing explosions in my field of vision, with thunder echoing its response to the fissures of light spreading downward from the heavens. It reflected the internal workings of my being. Just as much as I was panicked last night, I am calm tonight. I am too alone to panic. Loneliness is like a drug. It is an addictive substance that is at once calming and terrifying. Strong emotions flee, unable to resist the pervading force of emptiness, of sorrow. Like the heat lightning in the distance. Perhaps it is something that should frighten. But the subtle beauty of it, the sad solemnity of its silence, drive away all thought of fear. A calmness spreads its way through your body, through your mind, because it feels safe, it feels empty.

24 Hours

There are always people connected to you that you don't actually know and never will, like the girl I only know because she hit my car in a parking lot. These are the people in some strange, unclassified category. They aren't friends, in fact they aren't truly acquaintances, but they aren't strangers. They are fewer than friends and certainly fewer than strangers. It is the strangers that predominantly fill my vision every day I sit here. I often envision myself making new friends, but I envision myself doing many things. Only last night I determined I would no longer be wasteful, just as I opened my new bottle of Crest mouthwash with fluoride to attempt to preserve my difficult to care for teeth. And the very next thing I did was waste some of it by pouring too much into the little cup and not being willing to pour it back into the bottle. I watched it go down the drain as I rinsed the cup, a minute amount of purple mixed in with the vaguely cold tap water, and I felt strangely guilty. I think it was more because of my inconsistency rather than the mouth wash, but I'm not entirely sure. I'm not entirely sure of many things. I am fairly sure though that my inconsistency is the only thing that is consistent. Just like the sign I watched this morning in the cafe. I watched the intermittent lights of the Open sign; it was facing outward, but I could see it reflected in the window. It flashed ceaselessly, but it was the most steady entity present, its pattern of change a reminder of constancy. Yet not everything constant is ideal. There are times still when I almost cry just because I have to eat my ice cream alone.

Lost in Emotion

Sometimes I think of childhood, lost, and I cry;

I think of the long days all gone by –

It seems too short to say goodbye.

Sometimes I feel like I am young once more;

I cry about small things like when I was four –

It shakes me up to my very core.

Sometimes I have feelings with which I cannot relate;

Feelings of sadness, happiness, come too late –

Feelings like memories, lost, this I hate.

Sometimes I cannot comprehend what I feel;

I wonder at times if it ever was real –

Yet the memories, lost, disallow me to heal.

Sometimes I desire to reach back in the past;

Yet it is not as though I want those feelings to last –

I merely wish it didn’t pass by so fast.

Sometimes I want to remember the feeling I felt;

It comes to the surface like an untimely welt –

My heart, reason unknown, begins to melt.

Sometimes I ponder whether all feel this way;

If we all wonder why the feelings don’t stay –

If all have the feelings that don’t go away.

Sometimes I consider myself one of a kind;

No one else has to ponder as much in their mind –

No one else has to search in order to find.

Sometimes I believe no one ever could understand;

That often even I find it difficult to stand –

That when I’m lost in emotion I just need a hand.