To say that this week has been emotionally intense would be mole-hilling a mountain. While I do have a special talent for that, these mountains have been too big, too mountainous -as it were- to reduce them to manageable molehill size, so they have erupted like volcanoes, bursting through me like a space rocket leaving the Earth’s atmosphere… because Truth does that. Not the kind of truth where you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, not the kind where you tell your friend that dress really does look terrible on her, not the kind where you tell your boss you’re late because you slept in instead of making up a better excuse, because all of those acts of honesty are admirable but not usually life shattering.
I’m talking about the kind of truth that grows quietly inside you, that is hidden for a long time: 42 weeks, 5 years, your whole life and you may think it is never going to come out, maybe it is buried under pain, guilt, anxiety and you have to dig for it, clearing out a path from which it can emerge or maybe you don’t even know that it’s there until one day you stop swirling around in circles for long enough to become completely still and out it comes, a piece of you, beautiful and sacred como si fuera un pedazo de Dios. And it destroys everything that came before. Life as you knew it has ended, but this demolition derby simultaneously creates something new as it startles us out of the imaginary and the symbolic, and we experience ‘the real’ in the Lacanian sense. This is how I know that Love is a verb. In fact, it’s an action verb. It moves through us, it is the force behind the truth of a new life, of holding yourself accountable for your own actions, of forgiveness.
And it has left me awe struck and sobbing.
Stumbling on the M.C. Escher staircase of my life, I am left to interpret the rubble like tea leaves. Now what? I wonder, as I blink into the dark, trying to discern forms from shadows.