12 April, 2008

• Supper is cooking #
• Dinner was amazing! #
• Why did I wake up so early? #
• Twittering from a funeral….I want a green funeral #
• Life feels good right now! #

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Rarely, if EVER, do I write about personal conversations that I have. And, if I do happen to find a conversation interesting, I never, ever, reveal that the content of my post derives from a conversation. I have written about how I argued someone’s point over the weekend, usually my buddy Touka [and usually after too much red wine or Hopleaf beer] or back in the day w/ Tripp [but that was usually via blogging]. But, never do I write about what I conceal in my heart.

Today, for the purpose of processing and expanding my sense of relational dynamics, and attempting to make sense of what I believe to be something rather profound and important in a new friendship that has caught me by surprise and one for which I am grateful, I’m writing about a conversation. [I hate disclaimers!]

I am a person who is moved by textual narratives. Texts, however, emerge in a variety of ways: bound in what we call books, embodied [i.e. humans], media, etc. I am moved by the narratives of life, love and death that is found in text. I am oftentimes wrapped up in the poetics of life, in that conceptual or dream-state place where everything seems just right or perfect–where intentionality seems like the only “right” thing to do and where justice is the only option.  Sometimes, however, the latitude and longitude shakes and rattles my “map” of the world [or how I have perceived and/or understood my world] in such a manner that it causes an unexpected collision or unmapped intersection, something I’ve termed: serendipitous.

Sometimes worlds collide in a gentle fashion and intersect, and we are moved by people: by their stories, by the way they embody, practice or live out their passions, their dreams, and even the way they seek to remain true to themselves. Sometimes, that latter part [that watching and observing, from afar, at least for me] is difficult, because you want to help and you want to care, and you want them to know that you are trustworthy. You want to be counted as friend.

Today, on a rainy April day, as I hear the rain drops bounce on and off my window unit, I’m writing about my life–about my sense concerning love and care and how I understand my journey of love and care, and how perhaps theology has conceptually shaped that, but how a conversation enlivened that for me.

The fog has rolled in and I can barely see the Metropolitan building up the road. Though the fog is thick, my thoughts seem to be clear. So, life…I’m writing about life…love…care…

…Moving on to the politics of love and care…

I was privy enough to have been told [albeit via an email] about a a conversation that a friend of mine had w/ their best friend concerning the relationship or balance of love vs. care. Since my friend shared this with me, I’ve been thinking about the politics [or practices] of such dynamics, and if there is such a thing or reality of separating love and care. I’m not sure there is?

My point of departure in thinking about most things is theology, since, after all, I was trained as a theologian. As with anything, I start with that which makes sense to me: meaning, theology, the complex questions in life.

In Greek, there are 3 words for love: a friendly or virtuous love [Philia], a passionate love [Eros], and a deep abiding love for friend, family, and/or neighbor [Agape]. All of these forms of love equally embody a sense of love and care. In this sense, love is care and care is love. There is no separation. In fact, all forms of these types of love are only cultivated and/or expressed and informed by community, by a group of loving and caring individuals who create a context of love and care.

What often happens, however, is that we seek a discontinuous community.  We seek folks who are disconnected, though appear and seem connected.  We unfortunately learn otherwise.  We think that we are finding a sense of care or love and learn something radically different.  I think its probably an awful discovery, because we all want a place to belong.  All of us, even those of us who try and keep folks as arms length.

For myself, it was 10 years ago before I began to let that barrier erode and crack.   Though I was a divinity student as an undergrad and studying about community and could well articulate the politics and ethics of community, I refused to situate myself within a place of community because it required vulnerability.  There was something strangely frightening about the possibility of being changed by love, about being cared for.  After many long walks around campus, oftentimes alone, after learning that my dad was diagnosed with cancer, I finally began to learn that I couldn’t walk this life alone.  I did need this community about which I was studying.  I believed in it.  I hoped in it.  Perhaps I should practice what I was preaching?  What a novel idea!

So, there began the process of braiding together love and care for me in my early 20s.  It was a tunnel that had many twists and turns, but there was a ray of sunshine.  But, there is always sun shining in Texas and the beer is cold!

gracias, g–esto me provocó para escribir.