A Layman's Post

Would you please write something
I can understand, Andy asks.

Cause the last blog
was a little obtuse,
scrambled even.

Well, last night I dreamed:
Climbed up a slide
and swooshed down
a slippery silver slope.
Met my friend Helen
halfway down.
"Write," she said. "It's time."

Today on CBC Radio I heard
a documentary about Bountiful,
a notorious polygamous community
of Mormons in southeastern BC.
A few people get out.
And then, what?

They don't know what to believe.
They've been taught not to think.
It's a life's work to erase the grooves
and create a new overlay.

My mom and I talk about this:
She said she remembers:
she was two, and her life as a Mennonite
didn't seem to fit. Whatever she was
in a previous lifetime, it's clear that this time
she came to scope things out for the ones
who came next.

Andy, are you still there?
I don't want to lose you.
I can finally see what I have:
who you are.
A year later it's stronger,
more delicious.
You. Real.
Me too. Wholly.
Us, holy.

Sacred, not scared.
When I'm so open,
it feels like fear --
the same frisson --
and I am not afraid
of it anymore.

That's what I'd like to tell
the emigrees from Bountiful:
there's no way of knowing
until you go forward.
Try. Make a few mistakes.
Learn about real life consequences.

Be a friend. Dream. Make love.
Travel. Spin. Pray. Scream.
Laugh. Wear what you want.
Be confused. Try again. Sing.

There was a time when it felt
like I was wearing someone else's skin.
And tears, I have learned,
keep the face young and beautiful.

I crave relevance, meaningful communication.
I want my words to matter, to me, to you.

When I know that Andy loves me,
even when my cheeks are red after wine,
then I understand God.
There I go again, a poetic orgasm.

"I love you so bad," he says, and laughs.
If you've never had a really wild night,
you've never had a Mennonite.

Sometimes I want to know why,
why is it so important
to love him well?
And I think I know the answer:
it's because I'm not just getting older,
like the Clairol ad said:
I am getting better.

A Leprochaun I know
says there are no mistakes.
Seriously, this is how she's lived her life.
One thing leading to the next.
The only reason I thought they were mistakes
is because the minister said so,
and I believed him.

Challenge. Reject. Refine. Rejoice.
Life is so much more than we'll ever know.
Even when I think I choose,
I know I am as unconscious as
that cyanobacteria who thrived in the
warming global ocean, reproduced
prolifically and caused the planet to freeze.

You can't fault a one-celled organism
for following its coded genetic destiny.
And in moments of clarity --
a nano-second every now and then --
I know that my coding is elastic and erasable,
rewritable, dendritically
capable of instantaneously transforming
my wishes into reality.

To the brave souls from Bountiful:
be strong, be weak, be brave, be meek.
Write your own story,
become who you are.

How's that, Andy?