Continuity

"All too often, men and women are like battered wives or abused children. We hold on to the continuity we have, however profoundly it is flawed. If change were less frightening, if the risk did not seem so great, far more could be lived. One of the most striking facts of most lives is the recurrence of threads of continuity, the re-echoing of earlier themes, even across deep rifts of change, but when you watch people damaged by their dependence on continuity, you wonder about the nature of commitment, about the need for a new and more fluid way to imagine the future" Mary Catherine Bateson, Composing a Life

Transition has always been rough for me. Memories seem to haunt me wherever I go (re-echoing earlier themes), old sins, old patterns, old friends. Things that once were secure, now gone, and when I see a twitch there, a glance here, a smell there; I am reminded with a feeling deep feeling in my throat of the loss of these things. Of course, some things, say self-abusive behaviors, are okay to say goodbye to. But they still seem like old friends at times of retrospection. A wise friend once told me that my self-abuse served me well at some points in my life. It protected me, it kept me from feeling-- sorrow, pain and even happiness could be turned into a numb feeling. If anything, it kept me from feeling lonely, I would always have this voice telling me how much to hate myself.

But what happens when you decide to hate the voice that hates you? What happens when you decide to forget these old things, forget the things that drag you down? Many people in the faith call this "pruning" where you commit to cutting off a behavior, pattern, or even a person that takes life away from you. I did the same thing to the roses this morning- whacking off the long stems which will bear no flowers so that the main bush can bear many flowers throughout the year. I wonder if the roses feel the same way I do when I am "pruning". It's like when you're a kid and you loose a tooth-- you keep feeling the raw spot in your gum to see if it's really gone. Yup, it's really gone-- only the slight tinny taste of blood as evidence to it's previous existence. Yet you can't shake the feeling that something is missing. Vines, teeth, behaviors, removed, making room for better and healthier things. And somehow I know that; I know that when I let these things go there will be more room for peace, joy, and love. But the change is risky, and frightening, and so I am tempted to live less, cling more, instead, choosing the comfortable continuity. Old patterns need no new training.

I need a new and more fluid way to imagine the future--one that allows for change in myself, in my heart and my mind. One that positively visions for choices which bring life, instead of death; feelings instead of numbness; hope instead of darkness. Pray for me friends, that I would be empowered to make these choices and engage in the daily battle of being renewed by the transforming of my heart and mind.