Riddle

I've been conflicted over something for awhile now. I've been processing it in my prayer time. I've been processing it with my inner circle. I've been been processing it in my psyche. I have not come to a clear "answer."

In the most general of ways, I asked Wil about it, while driving. "What do you think I should do?" I said.

"You should cross two streets," he said from the backseat, where he prefers to ride.

I looked in my rear-view mirror to see his face. Was he teasing? Serious? Saying something random? Revealing a deep, inner wisdom?

I have no idea. It does no good to press him on such things, he doesn't like to be questioned, and all attempts to further the conversation, gets you nowhere.

I've come back to his statement, however, and have turned it over and over and decided he's right, whether or not he meant to be helpful, he was. We cannot get anywhere by looping in our minds, spinning and circling, chasing our tails. Eventually, we have to "cross a street." We have to see where things look from that angle, from the "other side."

Crossing two, even better.

No More Making Do

We have a front-facing attic window, that for several months out of the year has no need for a covering, but for several others, it does. The afternoon sun pours through the window, into the storage closet, out into the adjacent room, and the heat spreads throughout the upstairs.

Wil and I spend a disproportionate amount of our time year-round, on heat management. He closes vents. I open them. He closes shades. I open them. He shuts doors. I open them.

I need the light. I like things to move, to breathe, to flow.

He likes a dungeon. A dark, still, closed off space in which to have his being.

Today, I went up to the storage room at the top of the stairs, and it was hot and still. I looked at the old pillowcase, hung by two small nails - right through the fabric, and I saw myself nearly 14-years-ago when we first moved into this house, "making do." For all these years, when winter has turned to spring, I have hung that same old pillowcase, on those same hastily hammered nails, and walked away for months. Never giving it, them, the system, another thought.

I'm all over the Internet today, I need a proper curtain and rod for that window. I move as though my life depends on getting that handled. Today. Right. Now. I can't stand it another day. How have I looked up at my house each year, and seen that forlorn-looking thing hanging there, and been alright with it?

Didn't see it.

Didn't notice.

Didn't care.

Now, I do. I see it. I have noticed. I care.

And so it is, right? We can only change that which we put our attention towards. That to which we bring gentle awareness. That which we look at with new eyes, and see what can be done to change it.