The world is a stranger place that we can reckon, and we pass it all by, not as ourselves with how we see us- crooked teeth, laughs that go on too long, the resting faces that say bitch to some and neutrality to others. No, we appear in perfect little rectangles, frozen in time like the wallet sized photographs from long ago school picture days. Like those unwanted cluttery snapshots, we may fade, or take on a patina in certain lights that we certainly did not possess… except when we do.
We think of belonging in regimental fashion, to our family, our organizations, our country- but that is the cheap version to give lip service to when we must fit, must be made to fit, to have something larger than ourselves to look to. That is not belonging.
Those I belong to, I belong to because they keep that little secret snapshot of me in their minds, and I keep mine of them. Little pieces of self in moments that cannot be posed or chosen from a set of proofs to be as perfect as possible. There are people I belong to that belong to me that I see and remember as their most glorious, charming, kind, loving selves. In me I hold my people as being courageous, laughing at all the right parts, and trusting in sharing the burden of their pain to lighten the load. They will never know themselves in my mind, and I will never know myself in theirs, but that lack only makes them the more precious.
I am theirs and they are mine, not in any words that mean what they should mean. I try to throw away whether the words matter, to give shape to the idea of belonging and just enjoy that we belong.
The divine spark in me recognizes and greets the divine spark in you.
The human soul in me that knows pain and weeps, weeps with the human soul in you.
I will wake tomorrow and go about my day, and do the best I can to be a good person. I may not succeed, but if I do in any measure, it is because I meditate on the nature of love and belonging today.
Curiouser and Curiouser 