In two words: Lemony Snicket

R + I, out of boredom and lack of selection at the Nhulunbuy Video 2000, rented "Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events." We were touched. 

Since the book is always better than the movie I decided to imbibe the Series, and have just finished this afternoon. Man. The author really captures in his series what my teacher DB is saying in other words. The reality of life isn't that mysteries get solved. It's that mysteries only get more mysterious. They deepen.

The Series is not for readers looking for tidy plots and answers. It will leave you with more questions than you started with, and in that sense isn't very satisfying. You know, sort of like life can be. If your preference is questions answered, plot solved, clear villains and heros, you will be disappointed. As Lemony warns, if you want a book like that the best thing you can do is put his book down. Go find a story about giggling elves. I thought he was kidding, how could a story, a children's story no less, not have a tidy plot line and still sell copies? Oh right. I got mine from the library.

Are young children ready to deal with this uncertainty? Am I  ready to deal with this?

I realize I read fiction to escape life or to think, damn, I'm glad that isn't me. I read it for the satisfaction of the resolution. I admit that I read philosophy to find an efficient way around or through life with as little complication as possible until I 'm out of it. But now even my fiction and my philosophy are telling me the same thing. There is no tidy resolution. There is no around, through, or out. This is it. 

This is it.

This is it.

This is it.

The reality is life is complex. And no amount of around, through, or out, is going to change this truth. Even when I think I've finally organized myself into stability and efficiency, eventually complication slides in. Oozes in. Gums up the works. Fills in the cracks, and there I am, plot unraveled, looking life in the face and asking "How did it get so complex?"

I think I finally get it. Life didn't become complex. It always was complex. I wanted reality to be a simple plot with a beginning, a middle, and an end. But reality doesn't have a beginning. It did not start with my character. My experience of it can not possibly include all the facts. My understanding of the plot is based on snippets, clippings, snapshots, and memories gathered from hurried conversations.  Some helpful, but painful things are left out all together to protect me and those I love.

I'm willing to accept this at last: I never will know the whole story. I'll never see the end. A villain is just another character with a part of the story I've never seen.

With a deep inhalation I settle myself right in the middle of it all. Rather than await the resolution, I'll experience every snippet, every clipping and snapshot. I'll do the best I can with the information I've got, and with compassion remember that's the best any of us can do.

Thanks Lemony. May you remain an enigma, always.

Ex-change

I have endured my first ever boil. Where is it? Why, it's right on my face! Convenient place. I'm sure not to miss it there.

Living in Arnhem Land, I've seen and doctored many boils. They are gross, hard, puss-filled, weeping sores that are the stuff of old-testament fire and brimstone punishment. They are as bad as all that. If anyone should accidentally bump your boil, get ready for a shock wave of pain that will move through your body head to toe. When my boil finally burst, I enjoyed 30 hours of drainage (read: blood and puss dripping from the sore). And now, well, there's the gaping hole in my face. My ego says, "Ow!"

I've had a horrible time with my skin since adulthood. Or I've believed. Being a Chase entails poor circulation and hence slow healing. Blemishes often infect, and take weeks to heal. The fact that I'm impatient (a perfectionist) and try to help them along by squeezing or whatever, rarely helps. When I look in the mirror and see a blemish, I see imperfection. I feel dirty, ugly, old. I'm looking very closely.

How did I get this boil? Well. Naturally it started as a blemish that I kept touching, trying to hurry along towards perfection.

I had to go to town with my swollen face, at it's peak and oozing. I had been hiding myself all week. Seriously. When I heard a knock on the door I went to my bedroom to hide and let Randy handle it. But, I couldn't avoid this trip, and decided to bandage the boil and face it.

As I went about bandaging my face I saw something in the mirror I hadn't noticed in a long time: my eyes. They were deep blue. Soft. Compassionate. Forgiving. They told me I was hurting, but beautiful. I fell into them and felt a whisper in my heart: Back off. Slow down. Demand Less. Accept all, especially imperfection.

I am not the same.

We change, things change. Change is the only constant is it said. But change is only part of the story. In between every change is an exchange: a transformation. Things change, that's for certain. But change into what?

We decide, moment by moment.

Break a bottle of anything but champagne

I'm giving the blog a go. Its a means of publishing that I hope will take less time than my regular website. A few words, a photo, and all nicely reliably formatted without any effort from me. Dreamy. Feels tidy!