Journal entry from 2 years ago

Last Saturday during the family reunion, I skimmed/read my way through “Manning Up” by one of those neo-feminists who attack modern ‘manhood’ and the hooking up culture. It was quite convincing, but the chapter about love and darwinism gave me a lot of undefinite emotions/thought-feelings that I couldn’t explain when asked.

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Anyway, that Saturday night after going to bed, I found myself sobbing for a few minutes. I realized I was crying about all that, all the miscarriages of what could have been love, all the cynical hookup and jockeying for elite partners kind of stuff that has to do with status/degrees/money/jobs/etc in a modern urban jungle of swinging singles in big cities….it hurt so much. Stripped of all its sanctity, history, everything…..it was so empty for them you just had to cry for them.

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Miscarried children is a different pain than other people who die on you. It is supposedly quantitatively less because you didn’t “know” them…yeah right….it is true time-wise it is shorter (you don’t have a million anniversary/object/place reminders of a memory with them)….but the pain is of a qualitatively different anguish….much worse, a kind of pain BECAUSE the very thing you lost was so very immaterial, such a big potential that never was….hah, if the pain of an extinguished beloved light is bad, what about the light that didn’t even get lit, but was almost, and you dreamed of its light, and it was half-there and then not? Far far worse. The in between zone causes an intense kind of anguish precisely because it is in the ill-defined middle area. It was not just an immaterial dream to be forgotten, neither was it a concrete reality to be remembered. The child that was and wasn’t, and the mother cries and nobody understands.

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That is how it is with these people with 100 hookups and a half-dozen failed semi-serious (e.g. shacking up, open relationship, friends with benefits, starter marriages) ‘relationships’. None of it was ever really love, all hormones and status/life/career calculations and varying levels of false dreams and projections and the hypnotism of romantic infatuation (the stuff genuine relationships start with, but then moves past to reality and the real thing). But for these people, there isn’t really even a true relationship to grieve. They have done Lucretius very very well, and “Venus’ troublesome sore is well-lacerated with promiscuous attachments”. But somebody has to grieve, grieve for all these griefs, grieve for the guys who were never men, cornered into their couch and videos and porn and lifestyle, girls who are never wives, but strained partners all calculation and career with the botox or the pancake to cover the wrinkles and are so liberated they submit bikini shots on internet dating sites for inspection; because we are all so modern we are all meat and worship/treasure nothing, not even ourselves.

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So I cried. The tears kept coming. Someone has to grieve for these ‘miscarriages’, for these failures of potential that could have been and never were. I found myself talking out loud in the darkness, “they do not ‘just want sex or status, money, etc’….any more than an alcoholic ‘just wants liquor’”. I repeated that to myself three times crying, “they do want love, they just don’t know”.

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The alcoholic doesn’t just want liquor…no, the alcoholic wants to forget, forget that he might’ve abused his daughter, that his ex-wife’s life is a mess, that his father died in the cancer ward without reconciling with the family…..that there is no certitude, no peace, no beauty, no help from pain, and we are on a darkling plain...

Freedom from shame, seeing Beauty/Ultimate Good in reality, eternal love, the Holy Ghost….that is what he really wants, though he may not even know it himself, because as a child sitting on the chipped porch steps alone no one ever taught him half the words, and the other half was forgotten/deaf/bleary by all the injuries to his being that Others and himself have done to him over the years.
Freedom. Dignity. Peace. Goodness. Love. The simplicity and sanity of it all. Our deepest cravings never change, all of us, all of us children.

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But we have all violated ourselves and eachother, and nothing is clear, all higgledy-piggledy and scar tissue and upside down. So the girls run after Romance, and the boys after Carnality, and all is thrill…and all is consumption and disgust and compromise.

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It was all so simple in my head last Saturday night, and of course here it looks all melodramatic and me soapboxing. But it wasn’t like that that night. I didn’t really argue or reason, I just wept, and felt…I know this is going to sound weird….felt another breath within mine. God’s breath. It was there in my lungs too. Whether he was breathing into me, or sobbing with me, or both, I don’t really know. But this thought went through my head “Where human grief is, there is God’s breath also.”

It made sense at the time, though it’s a bit less coherent now.

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2 thoughts on “Journal entry from 2 years ago

  1. Bekki, I love the thought “Where human grief is, there is God’s breath also.” Christ went through ever temptation that we will ever receive and received every sin that we will every commit and took all that with him on the cross, so that we can be forgiven for every sin that we have and will ever commit. It’s incredible to have such a living, breathing God who breathed life into us.

  2. ” It was not just an immaterial dream to be forgotten, neither was it a concrete reality to be remembered. The child that was and wasn’t, and the mother cries and nobody understands.” –Good point, this sums up a lot of pain, especially lost souls to God. When Jesus said it was better if Judas were never born, I think Judas caused more people than just himself pain, particularly of this kind.

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