Sometimes

there is a resistance to write at the same time there is a drawing toward the page. deep inside, new understandings are bubbling up from a deeply stirred well, pocking in the heretofore unseen sediment resting at the bottom for god knows how long. the understandings feel icky thus the resistance to touching them, to looking at them, to owning them. and maybe they are just passers-by. which leads to the consideration that these understandings and feelings could be common, and the pocks perhaps a way to get the poison and sickness out. human, human, human, you are, they whisper. not god. but yes, god, too, connected to god, an angelic voice chimes in. the whole mess seems like a connecting agent, like muddy mortar that could adhere the tiles we each are in the mosaic of humanity. does it ever happen in your life that when a situation you have been long concerned about seems to be resolving itself, new concerns–or concerns you have turned your attention away from because they seemed less important than the newly resolving concern–insist upon your attention? it feels hard to see beauty in the mud of shame, humiliation, regret, envy, disappointment, fear, longing–and some call these negative emotions–yet how to move through and grow from them without becoming self-indulgent in a mud bath of self-regard? they are all about the past and here we are in the present. and how to grow without them, and thus, how can they be negative? how to look at these discomforts without indulging in self-consciousness? how to swim through them and emerge fresher and cleaner? To remind ourselves that we all have worth, regardless of our behavior. Our behavior is another story. This all the more stirred by listening to Dignity by Donna Hicks, PhD, which is recommendable. “Safety lies in connection with others […] we develop the awareness of our worth in relationship with others.” And her questions what does dignity feel like and does it perhaps feel like love?

Yet something written: This feeling of nothing and no one to hold onto–connect to–right here at home–yet, here we are, at home. Yet, yes, relationship with others. This feeling of things to write about which are difficult to approach–more changes, more growth & depth & opening & a trembling, too–and to put it all on paper overwhelms–yet here is jotting & noting things on IG that arouse envy, repel, & make sad and then a pushing to feel happy for the poster– A poster. Interesting. Look. How many of us have become posters? Human posters.

And this is with little mention of the news, which is terrifying.

“What is love if not the act of honoring dignity?” Again, Donna Hicks’s question.

Dignity even when in a cualdron of mud. Privileged to have the time to think about it all. Afraid to post because it may all sound trite. Looking for humor, lost somewhere in the mud, next appears the image of a naked muddy woman. A funny reflection with a frog in her hand waving hello.