I come here more often than you would think, since I never add anything new. I come to visit the blogs in my sidebar. I come to reread what I wanted you to read about my life. Sometimes I reread your comments. But more often than not, I simply ponder what it means to put something into the ether and know that people will either read it or not. Will comment or not. Will care or not.
For a long time, this place was about a certain exhibitionism, a place to give my words a home and to combat isolation. It was a place to work out some of my angst and confusion. A place to make some small, albeit anonymous, wholeness out of the fragments. I do not live an ordinary life. Ordinary does not suit me.
The closer I get to my truths, the harder it is to want to breathe them out into the world. The more content I become with my complexity, the less I know how to write about it. The more I know my audience (the more you all know me) the less I want to say.
This is the opposite of my experience as a preacher. The better I know my congregation, the more I listen for the Spirit, the deeper I understand myself-- the more I have to say. Then I go out and say it in front of God and the world. Here, I hide. Ironically, I hide mostly because of what the "church" would do if it put my name with my experience and tried to square it all up with their rules. Go figure.
My last entry was at the precipice of Lent. Day after tomorrow, I will participate in the same ritual. The smudge of ashes, the call to live a faithful life transformed by grace and defined by the movement of the Spirit. I will hope to be changed by the ritual and by my own earnest seeking. I will try to open myself again to be changed by God ... and I will stumble along the same road as yesterday: earnest, sometimes repentant, hopeful, inspired, deeply conscious, and sometimes entirely unconscious. In this way, we are all alike.
From dust have we come, to dust shall we return.