The list begins

Well...now it's official. There are people out there who hate me because of what I write on my blog. There's certainly one person out there who's on the list...and there may be two.

I learned tonight that B gave my blog link to a former co-worker who passed it on, and that person passed on, blah, blah, blah, ad infinitum, until the former co-worker whose bridal shower I raized got the link. Ooh. Ouchie. It's also one big possibility that a certain former boss has gotten hold of it too.

Oh well. It's not like I posted it naieve to the fact that she might read it someday. I knew it was always a possibility. The whole point of this was not to hide.

What is this expectation that we have simple feelings? That either we like each other or we don't and it's as easy as that?

I'm feeling more and more caught as I go down this path and leave the safe stuff for the riskier stuff. There's venom in there, darkness, a cheat, a hoarder, a two-faced liar, a critic. I can't write if I can't talk about that stuff.

B and I talked today about diving into the irrational. It came up in reference to gardens, when I told her to not be rational about plants. The same way you can't be rational about art, or god. How can I put this? I can read books upon books about where to put certain plants--in the sun or shade--and how much to water them, or whatever. But when you put the books aside, and just do it, and just listen in a slightly different way, you know exactly what to do with that plant. It's opening up to something beyond learned knowledge. It's like learning to dream when you're awake. Learning to feel the warmth radiating out of the shape of a petal and knowing that its meant for a warm spot.

And the more I practice it, the more I have to go for the venom. The more I have to write what is really there. The more you embrace the rational, the more you leave the rational stuff behind, like science, or being polite. It's just too hard to dig down so far and then come up saying, "Oh yes, I've had a very nice time."

Is it faith? Or is it sticking your hands down into the soil and feeling that everything is connected, and you are part of that connection. That love is connected to hate, that life is connected to death, and that flowers talk, and a person can feel one thing while feeling the exact opposite at the same time, and and that it is not so simple.

Ah, well. Sorry D. I didn't have fun at your shower. Doesn't mean I don't like you. Doesn't mean I didn't wish you well.