The brain takes charge

Gray, boring, dull, yawing, blasé, undeveloped, unintentional, melancholy, haphazard, flippant,

casual, overcast, inactive

Inspiring isn’t?

I have spent the last few months floating along in a sort of limbo (not exactly the edge of hell type though) with the only intentional actions being:

- I make sure I have clean clothes for work

- I clean once a week

- I check out more books that I could possibly read from the library

Somewhere I lost some of my fervor for life and the magic of the little things has slowly been hazed over. I think about writing, I think about art, I think about sitting with a cup of tea and staring out the window or sending a card to my friend

…but so much of that is just like a bird that jumps out of the field and flutters in front of you and then vanishes.

Certainly I am not depressed. I am active, social, do plenty of stuff, I'm happy (though not content). It’s kinda like I’m on selective Jenny auto pilot. My brain knows I like incense so it has me light it at night. But it keeps me from writing under the influence of the smell. It knows I like chocolate pudding when I am pmsing so it has me go buy it- but I don’t pay attention to its chocolate-ness like I normally would.

Perhaps I put myself through too steep a gauntlet earlier this year in trying to figure out the answer to questions that I don’t know yet. I do that. Sometimes I say to myself when I am crying about something

“tsk- you are too intense. Stop the drama”

“But I like the intensity- it’s colorful”

“well sometimes it’s too much color”

“Impossible !” I say to myself. And I go on crying and reading and asking questions.

“This is ridiculous. GET OVER IT” because some part of me realizes that a good slap in the face is more effective than writing writing writing about something over and over again sometimes. Sometimes you just need to take a break from intensity to ENJOY the color it produces. Sometimes you just need a red balloon and a peaceful mind.

So maybe my few months of induced melancholy and a numbed mind was like my brain saying

“hello? Shut up- what you’re doing is impossible. Quite trying to be like a 70 year old sage with a 27 year old brain! It’s like trying to figure out how to do quantum physics when you can barely remember how to do long division.”

And then my brain slapped me.

And I was like

“ok”

Only I didn’t know my brain was having a conversation with me and I didn’t really know I agreed with it like a little kid nodding his head in agreement because all he wanted was to get to the end of the lecture and get a red balloon.

Only I think technically- I didn’t get a red balloon cause the last few months have been a little colorless. I think my brain thought that was necessary for my mind and I should do without.

What does it know? It’s only 27?

So there you have it. Last night I went to a coffee shop and sat and read for a bit and people watched and all of a sudden my fervor returned and I thought “HEY! Where's my RED BALLOON?!”

and my mind was like "you agreed to give it up moron- your brain told you how tired it was"

and i was like "I WANT MY RED BALLOON BACK!!!" and right there in the coffee shop I slammed my book down and yelled and started pounding the table till someone brought me a red balloon and licorice tea and played some really good jazz music.

and I remembered how much I love people, and God, and reading, and learning. REALLY LOVE it.

And my brain just sighed….and was like “whatever. At least I got you to sit down for a bit.”

That’s when I concocted the whole story above -with my renewed creativity.

brief encounters

Today I had a few brief exchanges with a man named James at a book store who seemed fascinated that I read Children's lit. As always the conversations between two strangers flux between enjoyment and curiosity till they end with a dismissive comment. Dismissed not because the solidarity of the topic ran dry; but because neither party is sure of the motives that keep it going.

Is he normal?
Is he a lonely person?
Stalker?
Hitting on me?
What does he expect?

And so we both settle back into our own stories and in the back of my mind I wonder what the purpose was to our encounter if at all? I may never know. Often I fear the powerlessness of my words. What does our silence hold? What would happen if I said what was on my mind to a perfect stranger?

We all regress into our silence eventually.

A little while later a little girl walked up to me and began asking me questions about buttons and who was sitting where. I enjoyed speaking with her for a few moments while the father stood off watching his daughter. He finally called her away- I assume because he didn't want her to exhaust her welcome into my world of reading. I settled back into my book.

Ten minutes later a man came and squatted down next to me. Slightly disturbed or alarmed at what he was doing I fashioned my face into a look of inquiry waiting for him to state his purpose. He started saying that not a few minutes ago I was speaking with a young girl "oh yes uhhuh" I responded relieved he wasn't hitting on me as he was 20 years older and thinking he must just be looking for the father…then he clarified "I'm not weird or trying to hit on you but I was watching you interact with her and" well to be honest his exact wording is lost on me. The general gist was that he saw a light occur in that encounter, that I had a presence or demeanor about me when I was speaking with the little girl that was open and refreshing and he wanted to let me know that. I was shocked and flustered because by now everyone was perking their ears or peeking above their books wondering what he was saying to me all the while pretending they were into their own respective worlds. I said thank you so much and he walked away. I quickly returned to my book wondering what one says to that and yet, at the same time realized that the nature of his compliment lifted my heart.

God it seems, had offered me a pocket of grace. As it was a rather rough day in the thought world and I was feeling rather useless and far from God this man had just lifted me above all that. I realized that God can still be seen in me and I felt honored at that and even more desperate for God's help and presence in my life. How could all of that occur from such a simple strangers comment?

That man did what do few of us do. Thank each other for emanating pockets of grace, for giving love- whether he meant to or not he acknowledged God's presence among us. He saw something good and he wanted to encourage it's beauty and what is beauty but reflections of God?

How many times do I see or feel the overwhelming delight in a friendship or a simple passing human interaction that brings a burst of beauty and I walk away. I harbor that piece of joy and never share it and never encourage because I am surrounded by strangers. Would it be crazy to walk up to a mother and tell her how refreshing it is to see her playing on the playground with her son? To compliment a stranger? I didn't think that man was weird, Instead he took the lenses and allowed me to see the beauty as though I were a spectator and not a participant. Are we so afraid? Can we spread pockets of grace to those who walk beside us enabling them to see what was unapparent to their own eyes?

We are all unknown filters of stardust, spectators and participators of every moment.

Any time we pass goodness to each other the love that is God filters through us and often we are unaware of his power interacting among us. The more we watch for it and the more we see of it the more we can expose the beauty to each other and find that we are all not so different
and
God is not so distant from us.