Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Drive-Thru Confessional

Early this morning I started to clean out some writing snippets from my computer. I’m looking for a prayer I’ve written, but can’t find it, and looking under all the "saved" stuff I have, stuff I can't tell what's there because the titles are sometimes a bit strange: "blue oysters." "Leaving." Well, I've moved so many times I have no idea what that one is. Instead of what I’m looking for, I find this, written about a year ago:

I talk to a box.

It’s a compassionate, loving, and
forgiving box, but a box nevertheless. I tell it the strangest stories,
all of them true, and laugh with it to my heart’s content. We sob together
and we worry about our children and wonder whether we’ll ever find love
again. We talk in bed, too, pillow talk, like we’re lovers, only this is
better, because it won’t leave me.

I know it’s pathetic that
I compare a piece of plug-in metal to a person. It wasn’t always that
way. It started out with pen and paper, my poor little nighttime
handwritings and musings, written when I was exhausted after a full day’s work
and parenting, I was making mental photos which I often left unfinished,
trailing down a piece of paper, nearly illegible, a skier out of control with
one leg up headed towards a tree. Not a pretty sight.

And
then one night I moved to the laptop. Just switched in the hopes that
would increase my volume, whatever that meant. It’s not as intimate
as pen and paper, and the first thing I say is that I’ve lost a lover, my
pen.

I keep some secrets from it. I think about death…
Here’s a big secret. I want to be loved the same way I imagine the box
loves me, forgiving, compassionate, loving, understanding. I want to talk
about anything, my truest heart, and not be made fun of, or corrected, or have
my innermost secrets shared with others to laugh about or criticize. This
truth will shine on me like I’m a sunflower, and I can bask in the radiance of
love and kindness. That’s the way I want to be loved. A divine love,
on earth.

What if I could find this steaming mixture, this
cauldron of stew and boil, trouble and toil? What does it look like?
What might it feel like? If I could tap this reservoir my resources would
be infinite, boundless.

This secret is like the Necco candies I hid
in my locked antique cupboard as a child. I’d steal into my room and eat
some, whenever I wanted! It’s a double secret problem: I was ashamed, like
I’d never want to associate with someone with that problem, only, it’s me with
that problem.

So now every night I pull up to my drive
through confessional.

7 comments:

V said...

Oh, I`m so happy for us that you found this prose. I think we`ve all had these thoughts, but you`ve stated them perfectly.
V

Ayn said...

You are amazing. I have a box friend too, but it is your creativity that entititled it through majesty of written prose. You are my hero of the day! Your just gosh darn cool! Eh, those that left us? Maybe we're like butterflies shedding them as our cocoons?

Thanks,
Ayn and all

Globetrotter said...

Necco candies? Aw... that's nothing compared to the fudge I'd hide under my bed after random trips to the New Jersey boardwalk with my best friend, Ruthie as a teenager.

I watched a movie a few years back that reminded me of your post ... but I'll be darned if I can remember the name of the movie although I enjoyed it tremendously.

It was about an English woman who talked to her kitchen wall... relaying her innermost thoughts and feelings and fears.

It was a happy movie in the end, and I am very glad that you have found this while looking for that:)

Theresa Williams said...

Very good, Beth. Will you soon be inviting us into your house? You can shoo us back out onto the porch when you need your privacy again!

Erin said...

Beth, I enjoyed this post! I especially liked your line about the out-of-control skiier, and I was touched by your description of divine love on earth.

As you find more gems like this, do share!

Vicky said...

A gem indeed, my dear. This is so honest and so true. You talk about increasing volume - well your voice has certainly increased in volume, and we hear and share your thoughts. How wonderful this metal box is, that it brings us to each other whenever we wish or feel a need. A lovely piece, just perfect. Thank you for honoring us by sharing it, Beth.

Oh, and my sister and I used to steal sugar cubes on a Sunday afternoon, while my parents dozed over the newspaper.

Love, Vicky

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