It was like I had been reading the story of my life upside down. It took so long for things to make the sort of sense that is acceptable to the human mind. I worked hard for my purpose, to find reasons to justify my existence and actions.
And then I got to the Village.
Now I don't know what to say. As one of the director's said (and my mom reminded me) "It's not Shangri-La." I'm torn up that I cannot see the place that the electricity for my appliances comes from, the hands that prepare my food, the workers who take care of my plulmbing infrastructure. All of the sudden, I feel like I'm living a sort of robot cubicle world, that I'm disconnected again.
Even this, I'm aware that I'm just sending electrical impulses that will be translated into more electrical impulses so that people 10, 20, 50, 500, 1000 miles away can view these ideas. I never want to ride in a plane again, to travel at 500-600 miles per hour, to miss the journey that is so often said to mean more than the destination.
I felt grounded there and I now I feel cut loose, like I have to fight for peace again, live in paradox and absurdity. I loved Vespers every night and Eucharist every Sunday, even just the rhythm as much as the day. I used to fear the Eucharist as a longer service than normal but by the time I left, I had a gentle longing for it by the time Sunday arrived.
Bottom line is I have a compulsion in me that will either be killed alongside part of my morality, or will have to obeyed, resulting in welcome, difficult, and revolutionary changes. I mean, But very quiet revolutions.
I think the one bridge, dangerous and frightening, between my existence then and my existence now is living life as though I were on the verge of death. I can remember distinctly playing 4-5 times a day as though I was going to die in the next 3 seconds. Everything over. It has many roots and my experience with it has been beautiful, but also difficult.
I may try to chronicle my experience, but no selection or grouping of words can do that experience justice.
Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison.