Dangerous Compassions

hiding ideas in silence, not moderating ideaflow, pair a Docs

1.  reusing post-it notes

2.  drawing mermaids–deciding they’re not good enough

3.  valid midnight meals

4.  deconstructing storebought jewelry to make better jewelry

5.  worshiping Quan Yin in my own way

I was holding the statue in my arms kind of like she was a baby, when we left Cactus Joe’s.  That was pretty good, for worshiping.  Then I gently handed her to Ming, saying not to drop her.

I had a fantasy about becoming a strawberryetarian.  Fruit is a low-stress food for me, and strawberries are my favorite.

I mentioned strawberryetarianness to my friend, who told me their own fantasy about a DIY strawberryetarian tattoo.  I’m imagining the cutest strawberry tattoo in the world.

That day I went to the dentist, afterward, I was feeling destroyed.  Crumpled and fully exhausted in the passenger seat.  Ming needed to deposit something in person at the credit union because his app couldn’t handle it.

There was a Sonic right there.  I remembered ice cream is a classic post-dentist treat.  I was hurting.

We tried to order a butterscotch malt.  The worker said there’s no butterscotch, and there’s no malt.  Only caramel, only shakes.  So I got a caramel shake.

It was bland on top–then further down, I hit some caramel pockets that were better.  I had a fantasy about bringing my own malt powder to add to a shake.  But the only kind I ever saw was made my Carnation, which was Nestle.  Yuck.

The word “transmaltification” came to me.  Ming and I found that word funny.  I thought there was something important about it and wrote it down in my journal.

I wanted to thank my community after the visioning meeting yesterday.  We were upstairs in the prayer room, holding hands in a circle, right after the meeting, not saying anything.

I was filled with gratitude.  I thought, “Every day I thank God for each of you, that she brought me here, and that you let me live with you.”

I felt all that really hard, but I also felt I couldn’t handle anyone’s reactions.  So I kept all that inside me.  The silence was better than anything.

Maybe I could hide an idea in the silence, invisible, a beautiful easter egg.  Maybe it could be real and present even if I didn’t speak it.  I’m the type of guy who wants to believe that my words are in the room, pertinent, whether I speak them or not.

But maybe that’s hippie bullshit, wishful thinking of a quiet person, or formerly quiet person.

My friend learned I used to not speak much in groups–they were like, look at you now–now you lead groups!  I considered their idea, that I had changed.

But I can say just about nothing in a group I’m not leading.  It depends which hat I’m wearing.  Awkward, feeling like my ideas don’t fit with anyone else’s ideas, thinking of my thing to say two minutes after it would make sense to say it.

Or I have so many ideas about a topic, I don’t say anything.  I can’t figure out how to moderate my own ideaflow.  A thing I’ve been thinking about for 30 years, on my own.

Am I the same shy girl?  It made me remember right away, my first job, and how I realized I needed to talk to people.  At the software store, 17 years old, wearing a dress, realizing I had to go up to grown men and ask, “Do you needed help finding anything?”

Out of necessity, I developed a persona for work.  Does everyone do that?  Seems common.  Seems like a bad idea, in a way.  But capitalism.  It could be self-protective, but I’d rather be more whole.

When I was a teacher, I did that more, until the anxiety and need to be upbeat and positive turned into something too painful, and that was a factor in why I couldn’t teach anymore.  Something too far into mania or hypomania, out of my control, haywire.  My mind doing a thing no longer with my permission.  Or like a horse that gets loose and runs, hurting herself on barbwire.

Well, this is a lot to say, about silence.  I could write a whole book about silence.  Like some German Christians who sing about a Silent Night, making the night no longer silent–a paradox.

A friend bought herself vegan Doc Martens, and I was telling Ming I never had Docs, as I thought they were too good for me.  I could never deserve them.  I could have knock off Docs–that’s it.

Ming said we should buy me some.  I laughed and told him I thought they would be too narrow.  The solution isn’t to buy something–the solution is to heal my soul.

The caramel shake was buying something, but we have to eat anyway.  Later I was confused, like was the shake my dinner.  It threw me off.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *