No such thing as normal

There's really not.  How could there be? Just because things have a certain pattern and just because people have been and are expected to continue following the pattern they were born into, doesn't make it any more normal.  Maybe even less.    Today, I met a man who wanted to kill his father, and all he wanted was to see a picture of his daughter.  Her birthday was July 11th and he never even got to see a picture of her.  I am sure that she is beautiful and happy and wants to see her daddy, even if it's just a picture.    The mother of his daughter told him that she doesn't care if he shoots himself in the head with a gun and dies.

He's sitting in a room right now, alone, with no warmth but his own heart and no company besides four blank, white walls that can't blink or speak, only stare.  He is lonely, hurt, addicted, lost, and angry.  He wishes his father wouldn't treat him like a child.   I took him to a friends house and he smoked some marijuana, which made him a little happier but not for long.  That's how those things work.  He has been smoking meth for a year and a half, and he can tell his organs are gurgling differently now, in a good way.  There's nothing normal about him, but he's treated like there is.  We talk about him behind his back and chuckle, with vague and silent wishes for his happiness.  We quickly grow tired of that and look for something else to give our energy to that won't demand as much of it.

Yesterday, I met a man who can't forgive his father.  It's not even his real father, it's his step father.  All he wants is the stuff from off of the floor in his mobile home, and then he would be happy. Also the signed picture of Bob Hope he bought from a used store, which is worth 100 times 2.  Do you know how much money that is?   I don't.  He just wants to be with a hot chick, he doesn't want to be alone.  Who does?   I don't. He's not a bad guy, but not perfect either.  His sister came and brought him some food and he started crying.  He knows that God will give him a hot chick.  Not just an average girl, but a real knockout, a real head-turner.  The kind of girl that brings jealous glances from all the other guys who also want a hot chick.   I don't care as much about that.   I want a girl that is just beautiful, in all the ways that can be found and all the things that can mean.  It means a lot more than you might think, and in some ways less.

Two months ago, I met a woman whose son murdered her mother.  I like talking to her.  Two days ago, her uncle died. She likes her house because it's peaceful, and she can open the curtains in the morning and not worry about anyone coming around to bother her.  I'm glad she can do that.

Three years ago, I met a man who wrote the Song of Songs by hand for the woman he loved. If he made a mistake on the page he would throw it away, so it was perfect.  She didn't really care about that, but she liked the sweatshirt that he bought her.  He had a girlfriend that he used to call Pancakes.   Really though, he did.


There is no such thing as normal.  People die every day, people die suddenly and tragically every single day, and we think it's okay to be content to simply fit into a pre-set category of behaviors, words, thoughts, and ideas.  I can't think of anything more absurd.  What is the point of living if not to find out what pieces of the pattern to disintegrate, to find out how and to do it, and to be better for it?

Happiness is only real when shared, he wrote.   I think there is some truth to that.   I also think there is some truth in saying that when you forgive, you love, and when you love, God's light shines on you. I think there is a lot of truth to that.  If running means that I'm running against the forces of darkness ... all the evil int he world, all the hatred, then I want to run.

She told me that there's really no right way to do it, but there are a lot of wrong ways.    The world isn't as scary as I have thought it to be, but it is bigger and more amazing.  

I like the idea that we can only become powerful when we know that we are powerless, and know that we always will be so.  I also like the idea that we will only be happy when we know that we can never make ourselves happy, and aren't worth the trouble anyway.


Good night.

Colossus

Solitary, meager patch of dryness, eyes closed and head down

Cold wind around my face

Heart very much alive, upon this old familiar Earth.  The universal constant

Just another traveler no different from you, or from yours,

Caught up in the same patterns of breath, sadness, hunger, and rebirth


My voice makes its presence known,

 small,  yet vigil

 weak, yet purposed

 scattered, yet held together

 broken, yet defiant


silent in fearful reverence

silent, always

To all but one.