It would only be terribly cliché to say that I, too, looked back on 2005 at year’s end if I were to follow it up on New Year’s Day (in most Western countries, I think; if you’re Chinese, this celebration of the advent of 2006 is premature by twenty-eight days, but that notwithstanding) with a Top Ten of 2005 list of some kind. No, you can browse the archives yourself if you deem it worth your time, and leave your comments where you will; I’ll be glad to receive them, of course!
As I review the year that has been, I realized that the first four months brought awareness of a descent into an insidious, arrogant decadence; the median four months brought healing and regaining of balance; and the latter four promised new beginnings, new experiences, a fresh perspective—new responsibilities and, in turn, newfound maturity in areas that I had previously believed were black and white (but mostly black).
It seems I face a crossroads; I can make excuses, or I can go do what I need to do. I can choose life, or like Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting I can wait a little bit longer, take “just one more hit” of indolence, or of darkness.
Of darkness? What madness could find pleasure in darkness? Yet it’s not as absurd or as uncommon as it sounds: as an old friend has long held, “If you expect the worst, you’ll never be disappointed.” Aye, but believe it, and it comes true, and the heart is full of fear.
Yes, Jesus through sem* is teaching me how to laugh again. The darkness of soul that expects all laughter is false, that “fun” has to be sneaked, a guilty pleasure. I find in myself a propensity to overthink, to “think too much,” as JS has always said of me—and I love it, and would not have it any other way. But to never allow for diversion is to allow depression in the front door and compulsion in the back.
I admit I feel alive when broken; I admit I most clearly hear the voice of God when I commit error. Standing alone burning tears back with rage in a lightning storm atop a condemned Manhattan skyscraper, sporting mirrorshades, a sneer, combat boots, a black duster, smoking a cigar for the irony of the pleasure in light of one’s own devastation—the image is Romantic, tragic; the fallen hero feels the weight of inner death and so knows most intimately in that moment that he is alive. But this is not the life for which we were created: the soulful, experiential knowledge of one’s own life and purpose is truly best experienced from the side of standing in the Light Himself. I say best, not “easiest”! Not “most comfortable”! With apologies to Aristotle, the eudaimon life is one lived being constantly transformed into the Maker’s image and laying down one’s own life, not slain by the bitter blade of the world—living under the Master Surgeon’s scalpel, not under the world’s gun.
Interpreting Matthew 6:25 through the Augustinian image of evil in relation to God’s goodness and applying it to my own mental life, “Therefore do not mentally dwell in enemy territory, but come see the light shades in the greater part of the chiaroscuro canvas. Each day has enough jet pigment of its own.”
A dear friend remarked recently when we reconnected after nearly a year of having not spoken (for duty and business, not a falling out) that we each had adopted aspects of the other’s personae—I the tooth-gritting, morosely overanalytical cynic, he the man of few words, of action and of instinct (though, it might be said, no less cynical). I laughed my affirmation when he noted parenthetically, “I guess that probably means we actually grew up a little.”
What about you? What has the year taught you? May we encourage each other to live in truth this year.
