*Originally posted as a blog entry on MySpace on 9/11/2008; edited on 7/10/10*
You're in luck because this entry was inspired by notes that I wrote on a brown paper bag from Walgreens while on the BART train going home. Oh joy. Actually, this entry was inspired by real events, plus the not-so-surreal events in a novel called "Kleinzeit" by the ever-brilliant Russell Hoban, and the viewing of various clips from the now cancelled show "Joan of Arcadia" while on YouTube. These inspirations led to mental musings, which led to the notes being written on said brown paper bag from Walgreens while on the BART train going home.
I suppose we shall start with the subject of Consolation, since that is the first word in the title of this entry. For this, we shall go to a scene from a "Joan of Arcadia" episode. Joan's mother, Helen, is explaining to her husband what a priest told her about the concept of consolation. It's described as a period of grace: when everything is flowing, when we are in touch with the universe/God, and what it/He/She wants from us, when we know exactly who we are and how we fit in to it all. I have had these moments. Several times, in fact. I know it sounds wonderful, and it can be. But those supposedly wonderful moments, they're also scary. I say this because in the moment they are happening, I feel like I am losing my sanity. I am in touch with, in communication with, the Universe, or the Creator of the universe, or the Universe as Creator...whatever you want to call it, I have been in touch with it and feel like I have lost touch with what we know as Sanity. But when it happens, somewhere deep down, I know that it's all right, because it's never led me wrong. I feel comforted, taken care of, listened to, when in this period...all of this is mixed in with feelings of fear and even annoyance, because the Universe/God just won't shut up. There can be peace of spirit, but never peace of mind. It's hard to describe if you've never been in it.
I'm going to skip over Desolation for the time being, and move on to Remembering since it is related to Consolation. Remembering in this sense comes from Hoban's work, Kleinzeit. The story itself doesn't matter...it would be too hard to describe at any rate. What does matter is what the title character comes to realize: that one must RE-member oneself. We are all what I like to term "organized messes"--bits and pieces of things thrown together and torn apart again and again. We so rarely are able to feel "whole", if ever. Our "members", bits and pieces of our psychic bodies, are torn apart and thrown overboard and everywhere else. We must RE-member ourselves: put ourselves back together again, even if momentarily, before we are ripped apart once more.
The following may not be the best example to illustrate what I have said thus far, but it will at least give you some insight into the inspiration for this entry. This is from Kleinzeit:
"What're you waiting for, said Hospital. You've remembered yourself, haven't you.
I supposed I have done, said Kleinzeit. But it came and went so fast.
How long do you expect a moment to last, said Hospital.
But to have only one moment! said Kleinzeit.
Rubbish, said Hospital, and rang up Memory. [Hospital asks Memory for Hall of Records, and then asks Hall of Records for Kleinzeit's "moments".]
Moment, said Hall of Records: Spring, age something. Evening, the sky still light, the street lamps coming on. Harmony took place.
I remember, said Kleinzeit.
Moment, said Hall of Records: Summer, age something. Before a thunderstorm. Black sky. A piece of paper whirling in the air high over the street. Harmony took place....
Moment, said Hall of Records: Autumn, age something. Rain. The sound of the gas fire, Sister naked. Atlantis. Harmony took place...
Moment, said Hall of Records: Winter, age something. In hospital. Feeling of circle inside self, sweet rhythm. Harmony took place.
Kleinzeit waited.
Will there be anything else? said Hall of Records.
Place of dismemberment? said Kleinzeit.
Everywhere, all the time, said Hall of Records."
What Hoban is describing here in Kleinzeit are those moments of consolation. They are only moments...short periods of grace, but they occur nonetheless. As I stated before, I have experienced this, usually in longer periods and in different ways. Still, the experiences listed above are familiar in a sense. I have experienced these moments, too, and they are only moments that, once they are recognized for what they are, have passed and gone. "Too much like the lightening 'ere one can say, 'It lightens!'"
And now, we go to desolation, the place where I currently reside.
Going back to Joan, desolation is described by Helen as a place of fear, confusion, and things not working right without any explanation. A moment, a period of grace, and then...silence. Clarity, then confusion. Strength, togetherness, courage; then fear, seperateness and weakness. As for me and my relationship with this divine universal creation/creator, this is where I am.
A year ago, I knew exactly where I was that I wanted to go. I had plans for seminary and the priesthood in the Episcopal church. Nothing was clear cut, but I knew that's what I wanted to do. I was set in my path and went about to tackle the formalities of going on that path. But something stopped me. Doubt began to settle in, and God went silent. Actually, God began to slowly disappear. S/he would appear out of the corner of my eye, but would never come into full view. I could hear barely audible whispers, but no real words of clarity. And then, one day, it stopped all together. I'd hear the voice, but never really sure where it was coming from or if I should trust it. Seminary has been put off indefinitely, and since that time when I made the decision, all conversation with God has ceased. I am angry because where I thought I was being led turned out to be different than what I expected. I feel alone because now I am not being told where to go. The guidance that I was receiving before is no longer here and I feel as if I am moving about haphazardly, like fumbling in the dark for a light switch.
I have been contemplating this state of being that I have found myself in. I am well aware that it is something that is experienced often. As Hall of Records said to Kleinzeit's request for moments of dismemberment: "Everywhere, all the time." St. John of the Cross referred to it as "the dark night of the soul," and it was "discovered" more than ten years after her death that Mother Teresa went through an extremely long period of desolation. No one is immune, it seems. And so I have contemplated as to why this happens. You must forgive me if this explanation seems trite and puts down humanity, for that is not my intention by any means.
While I am not an essentialist, and I hesitate to use this word, I believe that we are in more periods of dismemberment and desolation because of our finite "nature." God is infinite, and we are not. True, we are made of matter, and matter is neither created nor destroyed, and so matter is infinite in nature. But our own understanding is not infinite. Our consciousness is not infinite. There are realms that our minds cannot reach, no matter how much we try. (I will not assert any reason for our finite "nature." The whole theory---if it can be called that---of original sin and our fall from grace is a load of rubbish/hogwash, and is in no way an intelligible explanation. I actually don't feel that our finite nature needs an explanation. It's a mere fact, and I am comfortable in letting it be so. ) And so, the fact that some of us are capable of communicating and feeling in touch with an infinite being, even if it only in brief periods of time, is really quite remarkable.
There cannot be any known purpose for desolation. We can try as we might to understand it, put forth the question, "Why me?" In the end, I believe all we'll come up with is, "Why not?" and find that in order to know consolation and remembering, we must experience desolation and dismembering. It is all very circular, I know. But despite the explanation of purpose, I think it is more important to remember (as it were) to accept these periods of desolation. To be in it, without trying to get out of it. The more we try to escape from our uncomfortable experiences, the more we come to deny them. We don't want them to happen, so we try to stop them from happening even as they unfold. We are afraid that if we accept them that this means we are accepting our fault, our guilt, for having been there. But this is not so. Knowing, and accepting, where we are is our consolation. We must know that what we experience in these times is occurring "everywhere, all the time" and to savor the other moments, the moments when we remember ourselves, when we are feeling consoled, for however long they happen to last.
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