Ever have those moments when all the words you have at your disposal become utterly useless? I’m totally there. What was I thinking? Twelve posts of Poseidon’s awesomeness should be easy enough, right? I mean, He is awesome. Yet here I am, struggling.
I’m tempted, after yesterday, to allow myself to become mired in quilt. Oh, it doesn’t feel like it’s as simple as allow or disallow. I talk a good game about days, anniversaries, not mattering to me. Yesterday I worked a full day at the day job. I came home in not an insignificant amount of pain (the leg is on the mend, I swear, but there are days when that does not feel true) (oh, sciatic nerve, how fickle you are) rested for a bit, and then got to work at job number two . . . already feeling guilty that I hadn’t taken the day off to spend *some* time with Him. Because every year, I decide “Meh, it’s not all that important,” and I’m fine, and then the day arrives, and I’m upset and depressed that once again I don’t take myself seriously. The nonchalance is a lie, it’s a ruse, and it’s false. Because my god is generous and kind and knows me and does not expect me to be other than myself, He is understanding of this, but you reach a point now and again where there is understand, all the understanding in the world, but also, “That’s great, I hear you, but this is something that I want, and so maybe if you can’t take yourself seriously, you might take Me seriously?”
I went to bed somewhat cranky (read: over tired!) and spent the night dreaming of living in a gully by a river, performing various austerities in order to gain admittance to a Vishnu monastic order — including having thousands of fire ants dumped into the area and having to avoid them without going into the river itself. (Does it count as managing the feat if I woke up at that point?) I woke feeling Poseidon’s presence very close, and I’m poking hard at that — dreaming of Vishnu and waking up feeling less . . . cluttered in the connection, the night after o/Our anniversary.
Which leads to: that’s another thing Poseidon has given me. (And we’ll ignore the guilt I want to feel over this being about things He’s given me, because I’m not going to speak to what I’ve given Him — that’s up to Him to share as He will — and if this anniversary isn’t a celebration of u/Us, of the personal, I don’t know what it is, so shut up brain). He’s given me the ability to get out of my way, to detach from the crippling “should-have-done” and “should be doing” and “can’t do it exactly so and so then why bother?” inner chatter. He has taken my tendency to get overwhelmed and taught me how to maybe sometimes set that aside. He’s taught me the value of honestly — of knowing myself and being honesty about what I know, and of setting reasonable limits, and thus also how and when to ignore those limits. He’s taught me why it’s important to, on any causes that one picks up, why burning one’s self out over a cause is not actually helpful, why making sure one’s approach is sustainable. He’s taught me, I suppose, how to prioritize, and to admit that priorities fluctuate with need — and He has demanded that I be realistic about what can be done by one person on a daily basis while living in a fundamentally non-sustainable culture. All without crippling value-judgment. So maybe He has really taught me the uselessness of constant value-judgment.
Because of Poseidon, I am able, time and again, to answer my “there’s no point to doing anything,” conviction with, “Well, if there’s no point, you may as well do what you feel needs to be done. It’s better than not, and if there’s no point, what do you have to lose?” This has been such an important tool to keeping apathy at bay, I can’t even tell you.