evolution

I'm a big dead fat fish, beached on a sandy coast of expired TV Guides, seaweed and dirty styrofoam coffee cups. My work schedule has been cut substantially and most of my days have been spent on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness, the warm television screen flashing infomercials, baseball games and documentaries of dead events, people and places. Dead. Like me. On this couch.
I've tried to take the occasional bike ride but lately the weather hasn't been cooperating. Damn humidity.
Over Memorial Day weekend I went to Hometown to visit mom, dad and sister; I hadn't seen them since Xmas.
The late afternoon and evening hours were spent with dad. His usual short temper was a quiet ghost and I enjoyed the time spent with him; it was a very fulfilling evening.
Earlier that day, I visited mom for a few then made my way to sister's place.
There was something troubling about the time spent with them. I don't know...The first couple of hours at mom's were good but as the afternoon aged, the jovial mood seemed to deteriorate. Mom is concerned about stepdad; she fears his unusual memory problems are early signs of Alzheimer's.
The goodbye scene with her was particularly troubling. We hugged, exchanged 'I love yous' (which felt genuine) and I walked to the front door. Standing there, we said our goodbyes, but something was amiss. My body, my mind were heavy. An unsettling ghost filled everything: the room, our words, my lungs. The goodbyes felt forced, mechanical. It was as if some ugly reality was pervading all time and space, yet we refused to accept its existence.
With knees of jelly I struggled to walk to my car. I tried to shake it off and tell myself, It's all in your head. But that didn't work. I didn't feel like a son leaving his mother's home; I felt like a visitor escaping the house of a distant friend whose relationship had been stained by time, broken beyond repair.
I attempted to align myself as I drove to sister's place but everything was crooked, estranged. Was it me? Or was it them?
Writing about my time with sister is especially difficult because of her situation (or is it mine?). She's pregnant, engaged and happy yet something has changed in our relationship. This shift became abundantly clear while I visited her. I should be ecstatic for her; she's free of addiction, she's with a guy that treats her well, she's doing what she loves (pet grooming) and she has her own place. I don't know...Perhaps I expected things to turn out differently. I guess I never expected a pregnant woman living in a trailer park to be my sister. I know, I know...That sounds pretentious. Despicable. Ugly. Sister and I were raised (before the divorce) in a upper-middle/middle class neighborhood and our parents worked hard to maintain that lifestyle but, I don't know...
Anymore, I'm not sure what to make of my early years. As I age, the facade of my childhood continues to erode, layers keep peeling away like some neglected billboard advertisement, revealing a hodgepodge of colors, experiences. Now, I treat my childhood like a film: the people you see on the screen, the words the actors relay, well, that isn't reality. True reality occurs behind the scenes and out of the camera's view. Only in the shadows of a darkened soundstage can people truly be themselves and when you're a kid, you have no concept of life off the 'stage.' Mommy and daddy are superheroes, their capabilities infinite, their inabilities nonexistent. But as you age you realize that they're human beings. With flaws. Cracks. Skeletons. Just like you.
Aging has also made me realize that a part of me stopped developing, or maturing, once mom and dad divorced. There are aspects of my identity that still seem rather childish, unrefined. Perhaps this post is about a man struggling to accept that I'm not the only one getting older...Maybe I'm emerging from my bubble of suspended animation...Maybe I'm finally comprehending the true realities of time, age. Old family movies flash a little boy striving to be the constant center of attention, literally pushing sister out of the camera's lens so that I could be the star (how did this affect sister's psyche? how has it affected mine?), the sun at the center of my own universe. Perhaps that crooked desire is why I've never been able to maintain a romantic relationship. "But what about me, baby?...Tell me you love me, baby.... I need you here with me, baby....I wish I wasn't so codependent, baby."
But I digress. This post isn't about me. This is about sister. This is about family. This is about change. This is about the people I know -- and love. This is about them -- changing. But I'm not changing with them...I don't know...I suppose the grown child doesn't change with his or her family, that's not the way it works. He or she is supposed to start a family of their own. Plant fresh seeds. Start anew. Perhaps this is why I'm having difficulty accepting sister's happiness. Read that again: I'm having trouble accepting sister's happiness. How ridiculous is that? Because her happiness doesn't fit inside my definition of happiness, I can't accept it.

Since I've discovered G-d, I've become so much more aware -- of everything. But discovering G-d is not only a discovery of the Eternal, but also an exploration of one's self, and as you explore who you are, you discover and repair the broken pieces, and as you ascend, it's important to stop for a moment and look below. It's crucial to note your spiritual evolution but it's also vital to understand that this progression is not a finite process. It's a constant process of self-alignment. The beginning is absolute but the ending is unattainable, and one's eyes, along with his or her heart, should always be open.

mc