the dance of the ink riddled fingers

love grows

Posted in epiphany tiffany, pin the tail on the love, thought spills by enisea on 29/03/2011

It’s like being ‘really good’ at grade 3 math but not wanting to progress to the ‘learner’ status of grade 4 math – though very well ready for it.  This is the current stage of my faith and I am a little anxious (though I know how unbiblical anxiety is).  I think I yearn for greater challenge, but I reel from the humiliation that hems such challenge.  I have built myself upon confidence and I feel now that it is time to throw myself off it because that’s what it will take to shatter a couple of unnecessary walls and make me stronger, and somehow more confident.  I want to grow, but I don’t want it to hurt; I want to shed this skin but I don’t want to be vulnerable and I don’t want to feel raw to the cold, even temporarily, whilst the new armour is being fitted.  But I’m beginning to feel the claustrohobia of my current lifestyle, as if the shoes have been well worn and to walk in them any longer might be detrimental…

I love having grown to this stage at the age of twenty-one.  I like the repertoire of life experiences gained, and the learnings and earnings I’ve accumulated regarding ‘love’ (and my understandings of it).  But enough of this “I, I, I”, my fears are that ‘next’ has planned much more of ‘you, them, others’ and will starve self-gratification – though I usually indulge myself in whatever selfishly satisfies anyway.

My first assignment for bible college amuses the undying question of “why suffering”.  This, I admit has solidified my theoretical knowledge of the matter and I will only know if these understandings have permeated my heart for parallel practice come the time suffering hits me the hardest – and I dread all forms of it.  Yet my life has been so far sheltered, so far protected, with minimal abuses and not so much as a hard simple knock (mostly self-inflicted tribulation).  I have not known suffering very intimately, it hardly visits me; tragedy is something of controversial media, and hardly personal.  Not that I invite such ‘richly debilitating’ experiences, though I know their beautiful potential to strip humanity to the core of itself and provoke meaning, purpose, love – which is frightfully refreshing.  I like that Heartbreak is a stranger to me, and that apparently, I only know what he looks like, not how he might seek to steal my heart only to return it shattered – if even so much as half.  Yet the many layers of Grief’s guaranteed rich experience make me curious about it.  I hunger for greater experience and I maintain a love-hate relationship with Emotion, who tosses me in brilliant flurry of unsteadiness.  

I have heard that Grief is one of the strongest emotions – I used to write grief best – there being such an attractive lexicon to darkness’ character.  Yet to wrestle with grief would be to provoke Faith and Hope, which I love for reasons of illumination and the warmth of strength, yet sometimes wish would permit me just a little longer to practice self-pity/deceit. And then awakens Love, our ruthlessly repremanding craving, yet calm Love that never sees its own pain as debilitating but alludes to everyone’s capacity to love, as if to state that none are ever exempt from attempting to love to the best of their ability; to show kindness to and to understand another, regardless of injustice.  Because love is the solution to suffering – love is social justice, it is active and it is enduringly compassionate.  Social justice without love is a tilted passion and reduced simply to being …social, a society of self-gratified ‘pat on the back’ people – futile productiveness.

Oh my, 6 days of repressing my words and they come spilling out in uncomfortable and strangely anxious yearning.

I used to roll my eyes at cliché readings of 1 Corinthians 13.  But now (being a little more grown) I have rediscovered the reasons it’s revelation is so quoted, is so familiar and memorised. Love has no limits.  Alas, I do and thus so does my love; but love, the true, whole love  – not confined to the hurts of its host, nor phased by abuse, unfaithfulness and selfishness – is that which is unfamiliar to us.  We believe that there is an extent/a bottom line/an end to infatuation/a finishing of ‘the feeling’ at which love is excused from its ‘never fails’ contract – but that is our love, limited by our broken understandings, but it is not agape love, not pure love.

 1 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. 2 And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. 3 And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.
4 Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; 5 does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; 6 does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; 7 bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
8 Love never fails.

1 Corinthians 13

Namely, you are nothing without love

… as am I.

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