Georgia and the information man.
in Thoughts and Feelings, words all strung together
as best songs, cliche, Georgia, good friend, hand, healing conference, information man, kind, little trip, love, mediocrity, poem, pulse, reaction, sky, suburban yard, time, wakefield, yard
“The best songs are the ones about Georgia–
Even though I’ve never been there, it’s the only place I still believe in Jesus.”
That’s an excerpt from Buddy Wakefield’s poem, The Information Man. I just read it again. I don’t know how many times I’ve read it now, but each time I do, it rearranges me all over again.
It’s like a good friend, someone who knows the real you and calls you out. Doesn’t let you sink into mediocrity. Doesn’t let you settle into some boring relationship just because it’s been a long time since you’ve held someone’s hand.
I remember the first time I met that poem. Yes, met it. It had that much of a presence. I listened to a guy–Ryan–recite it in the back of a suburban yard, under the kind of sky that makes you remember how small a thing it is to be human. My pulse quickened, my breathing changed. My reaction was visceral. And I was in love. Listening to him recite that poem was like standing in front of the ocean; I was at once overwhelmed and encouraged. So finite, yet my heart felt vast in a good way.
You owe it to yourself to listen to it.
I was thinking about it tonight, specifically, because I’m considering a little trip to Georgia next week. A friend wants me to sing with him for a conference. A healing conference, of all things. How cliche for me right now.
I’m nervous about a few things, but all of the sudden I like the idea of Georgia. We’ll see–the decision is still in dispute, I suppose.
But Buddy Wakefield’s poem is definitely not in dispute. It’s absolutely breathtaking.
Just like life.
Maybe even just like Georgia.
the fresh start room.
in I Lift My Eyes Up, Thoughts and Feelings
as America, brother jonathan, dear god, Delaware, fresh start, God, honeymoon, jonathan, little trip, lot, question, reason america, start, Tiger
So my brother Jonathan has a new blog up and running.
I just read his post about a first that he recently experienced. And um, it’s one heck of a first, I’ve got to say.
Which reminds me of today.
As if I really need a reminder.
As if the email I got from outofyourlife.com isn’t enough. The one confirming that they did, indeed, receive the breakup box I sent them with all the jewelry that has lost its meaning. And oh yeah, it ends with this special piece of encouragement:
Who needs a honeymoon when you can have a fresh start?
And though the only thing that could have made that sentence better is if they had ended it with the word, Tiger–well, who indeed?
And hahaha, who writes this stuff anyway? To which, when I asked him, my friend replied (to this rhetorical question!), Well, you could! And yes, I certainly could. Dear God, but I could.
But I guess another answer to the question, Who writes this stuff anyway? could be: someone whose honeymoon must have really sucked. And actually? I could use a nice little trip to somewhere warm right about now. But yes, it’s true: I could also use a fresh start. No, actually I plan on using a fresh start. And I’m not totally clear on the details yet, but honestly, it’s good. And it’s wide open. And I think there are a lot of windows there.
Kind of like the room I dream of.
It’s got lots of space and doesn’t bother to crowd itself with anything other than music and words and people who love them both. Maybe even some dancing, too. Definitely some dancing. And there is wood, beautiful wooden floors that remind you of forests and how sometimes they lay down and let you walk on them and goodness, but we should be more grateful for this. And then there are large windows and they let in the kind of light that is kind, that illuminates the beauty; and that only allows the safest people to witness the parts of you that are the reason America spends so much money on lotions and creams and padding and things that suck you in. And yes, there’s a grand piano and yes, there’s a guitar made of treewood, and yes, there are many other instruments there because I have good friends who like to sing their stories, too.
And perhaps I will call it the Fresh Start Room. And I will sit in it and make my music and come under the spell of redemption over and over again and not once will I think, I wish I were at Sandals, enjoying a honeymoon with a man who doesn’t love me. Because that sounds a lot like looking at what isn’t and why would anyone waste any time doing that when, look: it’s just about springtime. If that isn’t God’s way of reminding all of us about a fresh start, then fine, I quit. Cause I don’t want to be in a dance that isn’t new again and again anyway; I might as well just watch tv.
Which is why I went and filed the papers today. For real. Signed and stamped and organized and copied and paid for by a check from my recently opened bank account.
And because my marriage has ended with a blow that Delaware kindly cloaks in the word misconduct, this will not take so long after all.
Two to three weeks.
For the state to recognize it’s over.
Although, really, it ended back in August. Well, that’s assuming that it ever really began. In a real way that takes two people, I mean. But yes, whatever it was, ended back in the late summer. It just took me a minute to realize. Okay, it took me a lot of minutes to realize. And added up, I think all those minutes spell H-E-L-L, at least compared to anything else I’ve ever experienced on earth.
And now I’m looking forward to these new minutes. I think they’ll be better. I think they’ll be full of grace. I think I’ll be okay. Dear God, may it be.
