My lack of recent posting is mostly due to lack of time. But I think this blog has come to an end. My hope that other people would post their experience and insights hasn't come about. I'm dissappointed about that, but nevertheless I hope that something I have written will help someone.
My story isn't over of course, and perhaps it is unfair to end with the negativity of the last entry. Over the past few months I have moved from grief to confusion -- though perhaps confusion is just another stage of grief. I no longer feel so weighed down or tearful or angry. But what dominates my thoughts now is doubt and worry. As I wrote earlier, "I am really lost. I don’t know where I am or where I am heading, and I
have lost track of where North is." I have lost the clarity I used to have about who I am. I worry about my children.
It's unlikely that I'll post any more here, though I'll keep the site
active and will read any comments you make. I welcome any email, which
you can send to the address you'll find somewhere else on this site.
—Nat
Tuesday 22 May 2012
Monday 12 March 2012
Over a year now
Well it's been over a year now since we were separated and the time to lodge a divorce application draws nigh. It seems inevitable, but still hard to grasp. H is still certain that she does not want to be married, but uncertain whether she wants to divorce. From all I know of her, she will not change that commitment to independence, but she will still feel that I am rushing her into a decision.
Surely I should be able to "move on" as they say. Surely by now I could start writing something positive in this blog, like how I can see that the pain has been worthwhile, or how a return to singleness opens new possibilities. I am extremely blessed with family and friends. There are people who care deeply for me. Some I can honestly share joys or fears with. Some who I know would drop whatever they were doing to help me when I need it. People praying for me.
But regardless of the wonderful people around me I am desperately alone. I get a few hugs, even some kisses from my wonderful children, but they're not the hugs or kisses of a lover. There's no-one to dream with and I am tearfully broken, lost and crumbling inside, constantly aware of a hunger for sex that has no possibility of satisfaction. Fuck you H. Why have you marooned me in this desolate place? And fuck you God. Why did you arrange for her and I to meet in the first place?
How could I possibly start a new relationship in such a state of brokenness? Who would risk falling in love with such a limping man who's still deeply in love with his ex?
—Nat
Surely I should be able to "move on" as they say. Surely by now I could start writing something positive in this blog, like how I can see that the pain has been worthwhile, or how a return to singleness opens new possibilities. I am extremely blessed with family and friends. There are people who care deeply for me. Some I can honestly share joys or fears with. Some who I know would drop whatever they were doing to help me when I need it. People praying for me.
But regardless of the wonderful people around me I am desperately alone. I get a few hugs, even some kisses from my wonderful children, but they're not the hugs or kisses of a lover. There's no-one to dream with and I am tearfully broken, lost and crumbling inside, constantly aware of a hunger for sex that has no possibility of satisfaction. Fuck you H. Why have you marooned me in this desolate place? And fuck you God. Why did you arrange for her and I to meet in the first place?
How could I possibly start a new relationship in such a state of brokenness? Who would risk falling in love with such a limping man who's still deeply in love with his ex?
—Nat
Thursday 23 February 2012
Patience
A sonnet by G. M. Hopkins includes the line "Patience masks our ruins of wrecked
past purpose." Patience watches, with bloodshot and tearful eyes, our
unfulfilled desires. She protects us from despair but also deceives us with
false hope. Patience invites loss and yet persists in obedience.
In the famous passage in 1 Corinthians 13, Paul claims that "Love is patient … always perseveres ... never fails." On the contrary, I have to say that love has failed to sustain my marriage, that patience has simply masked the failure and that further perseverence is useless.
—Nat.
In the famous passage in 1 Corinthians 13, Paul claims that "Love is patient … always perseveres ... never fails." On the contrary, I have to say that love has failed to sustain my marriage, that patience has simply masked the failure and that further perseverence is useless.
—Nat.
Friday 17 February 2012
Naivete
A few days ago I mentioned Robert Bly’s book “Iron John”. It’s unlike any other book I have read, which makes it difficult me for to summarise or even categorise. Bly is part of a movement that seeks to re-establish a proper sense of manhood and in this book he approaches that goal mythologically.
There is much in that book I do not understand, but also a lot that strikes me as deeply insightful. One of the most relevant sections for me is about naïveté. I have never considered myself to be naïve, but in the sense Bly uses the word it describes me uncomfortably well. Not all that he says applies, but these extracts are both true and distressing (p. 63ff):
—Nat
There is much in that book I do not understand, but also a lot that strikes me as deeply insightful. One of the most relevant sections for me is about naïveté. I have never considered myself to be naïve, but in the sense Bly uses the word it describes me uncomfortably well. Not all that he says applies, but these extracts are both true and distressing (p. 63ff):
The naïve man feels a pride in being attacked. If his wife or girlfriend, furious, shouts that he is a “chauvinist,” a “sexist,” a “man,” he doesn’t fight back, but just takes it. He opens his shirt so that she can see more clearly where to put the lances. He ends with three or four javelins sticking out of his body, and blood running all over the floor.
He feels, as he absorbs attacks, that he is doing the brave and advanced thing; he will surely be able to recover somewhere in isolation. A woman, so mysterious and superior, has given him some attention. To be attacked by someone you love – what could be more wonderful?
The naïve man will also be proud that he can pick up the pain of others. He particularly picks up women’s pain. ... He is often more in touch with women’s pain than his own, and he will offer to carry a woman’s pain before he checks with his own heart to see if his labour is proper in the situation. I think each gender drops its own pain when it tries to carry the pain of the other gender. I don’t mean that men shouldn’t listen. But hearing a woman’s pain and carrying it are two different things.
We all have special relationships but [the naïve man] surrounds the special person with a cloying kind of goodwill. The relationship is so special that he never examines the dark side of the person. ... He accepts responses that are way off, conspires somehow with their dark side.
Sincerity is a big thing for him. He assumes that the person, stranger, or lover he talks with is straightforward, goodwilled, and speaking from the heart. ... He puts a lot of stock in his own sincerity. He believes in it, as if it were a horse or a walled city. He assumes that it will, and should, protect him from consequences that fall to less open people.
A naïve man acts out strange plays of self-isolation. For example, when an angry woman is criticizing him, he may say, quite sensibly, “You’re right, I had no right to do that.”
The naïve man will lose what is most precious to him because of lack of boundaries. ... He confides the contents of last night’s dream to a total stranger. ... He rarely fights for what is his; he gives away his eggs and other people raise his chicks. We could say that, unaware of boundaries, he does not develop a good container for his soul, nor a good container for two people. There’s a leak in it somewhere.
The naïve man often doesn’t know that there is a being in him that wants to remain sick. Inside each man and woman there is a sick person and a well person; and one needs to know which one is talking at any moment. But awareness of the sick being, and knowledge of how strong he is, is not part of the naïve man’s field of perceptions.
The naïve man often lacks what James Hillman has called “natural brutality.” The mother hawk pushes the fledglings out of the nest one day; we notice the father fox drives the cubs away in early October. But the ascender lets things go on too long. At the start of a relationship, a few harsh words of truth would have been helpful. Instead he waits and waits, and then a major wounding happens farther down the line.
His timing is off. We notice that there will often be a missing beat a second or so after he takes a blow, verbal or physical. He will go directly from the pain of receiving a blow to an empathetic grasp of the reason why it came, skipping over the anger entirely. Misusing Jesus’ remark, he turns the missing cheek.
As a final remark about naïveté, we might mention that there is something in naïveté that demands betrayal. ... When a woman lives with a truly naïve man for a while, she feels impersonally impelled to betray him.
—Nat
Tuesday 14 February 2012
You shall have no other gods before me
This post is way out of time sequence: it’s based on stuff I thought about months ago, but seems more relevant now in the light of my complaints against God. I claimed to have given God my complete allegiance, but to be honest, I have allowed H to displace God. That’s a type of idolatry and has damaging consequences for both her and myself.
When there has been a conflict (perceived or real) between what H wants of me and what God wants of me, I have often chosen H. I have set aside what I took to be a clear call from God to peacemaking in xxx. I set aside my commitment to live simply. I gave God less of my time and money. I stopped putting into practice my understanding of ecclesiology.
In part, I was conscious of the conflict and believed that I was doing the right thing by making our marriage a #1 priority. Over time I just fell into a habit of putting H first. Had I made the opposite decisions, as though my relationship with H was not itself a godly pursuit, would things have turned out any better? How is that balancing act supposed to work? Would God call someone into marriage and then call them towards something incompatible with that marriage? I thought not, and chose to comply with H. Now H is seeing a similar incompatibility and choosing God. Perhaps she is making the more holy choice. But if that is the case, then God is a mean bastard.
My idolatry is shown not only in those compromises, but also, perhaps more significantly, in my expectation that I would find satisfaction/joy/happiness in H rather than God. I have treasured her above all else – and believed that I was doing the right thing. Sadly, rather than making H feel good, those attitudes of mine have made her feel smothered and inadequate.
Sin always has its consequences, and the wages demanded in this case seem to be the death of my marriage.
A friend suggested that the issue may be my elevation of the concept of marriage rather than my elevation of H. That was the case for Sheldon Vanauken, who describes the idealisation of romantic love in his auto-biographical “A Severe Mercy”. He and his wife had the “perfect” marriage that was cut short by her untimely death to cancer. In a letter to Vanauken, C. S. Lewis described the death as a severe mercy, suggesting that if the idol of their marriage had been left unchallenged, the spiritual consequences for both husband and wife might have been something worse. I don’t think that applies to my view on marriage, though certainly may apply to my attitude to H.
I can see how making an idol of H has made me less happy. I have become naïve in the sense that Robert Bly uses in “Iron John” (that’s such an accurate description of me I shall leave the details until the next post). This idolatry has also made me lose track of what I enjoy. I have held as a principle “Glorify God and do what you want”, but the second phrase only works in the light of the first. Having displaced God, I have undermined the ability to seek what I want.
There have been consequences for H as well. To the extent that I thought my happiness depended on her and treated her as an object of worship, I have created an image that she could never live up to. I don’t mean that I have idealised her and then felt let down by the reality of her faults; I mean that placing her at the centre of my life has imposed an unholy burden of responsibility on her. She has felt unworthy in that position but unable (until now) to escape the burden. She says she felt smothered by my affection and judged by my goodness.
One thing that is clear to me is that I must make sure not to fill the hole left by H with anything other than God. I am purposefully keeping myself busy so that I don’t cycle into depression or isolation. But what I must avoid is seeking meaning or happiness in those things, or worse, in other people.
—Nat
When there has been a conflict (perceived or real) between what H wants of me and what God wants of me, I have often chosen H. I have set aside what I took to be a clear call from God to peacemaking in xxx. I set aside my commitment to live simply. I gave God less of my time and money. I stopped putting into practice my understanding of ecclesiology.
In part, I was conscious of the conflict and believed that I was doing the right thing by making our marriage a #1 priority. Over time I just fell into a habit of putting H first. Had I made the opposite decisions, as though my relationship with H was not itself a godly pursuit, would things have turned out any better? How is that balancing act supposed to work? Would God call someone into marriage and then call them towards something incompatible with that marriage? I thought not, and chose to comply with H. Now H is seeing a similar incompatibility and choosing God. Perhaps she is making the more holy choice. But if that is the case, then God is a mean bastard.
My idolatry is shown not only in those compromises, but also, perhaps more significantly, in my expectation that I would find satisfaction/joy/happiness in H rather than God. I have treasured her above all else – and believed that I was doing the right thing. Sadly, rather than making H feel good, those attitudes of mine have made her feel smothered and inadequate.
Sin always has its consequences, and the wages demanded in this case seem to be the death of my marriage.
A friend suggested that the issue may be my elevation of the concept of marriage rather than my elevation of H. That was the case for Sheldon Vanauken, who describes the idealisation of romantic love in his auto-biographical “A Severe Mercy”. He and his wife had the “perfect” marriage that was cut short by her untimely death to cancer. In a letter to Vanauken, C. S. Lewis described the death as a severe mercy, suggesting that if the idol of their marriage had been left unchallenged, the spiritual consequences for both husband and wife might have been something worse. I don’t think that applies to my view on marriage, though certainly may apply to my attitude to H.
I can see how making an idol of H has made me less happy. I have become naïve in the sense that Robert Bly uses in “Iron John” (that’s such an accurate description of me I shall leave the details until the next post). This idolatry has also made me lose track of what I enjoy. I have held as a principle “Glorify God and do what you want”, but the second phrase only works in the light of the first. Having displaced God, I have undermined the ability to seek what I want.
There have been consequences for H as well. To the extent that I thought my happiness depended on her and treated her as an object of worship, I have created an image that she could never live up to. I don’t mean that I have idealised her and then felt let down by the reality of her faults; I mean that placing her at the centre of my life has imposed an unholy burden of responsibility on her. She has felt unworthy in that position but unable (until now) to escape the burden. She says she felt smothered by my affection and judged by my goodness.
One thing that is clear to me is that I must make sure not to fill the hole left by H with anything other than God. I am purposefully keeping myself busy so that I don’t cycle into depression or isolation. But what I must avoid is seeking meaning or happiness in those things, or worse, in other people.
—Nat
Friday 10 February 2012
The reason for sexual purity
A good friend has suggested that I think more about the nature of my commitment to sexual purity. Was it a commitment to my wife, for the pragmatic reason that relationships works out better on that basis? Or was it a commitment to God, for some higher, more principled reason?
Seems to me, as is clear in this other post, that I have held to the former idea. And consequently, now that my marriage has failed, the commitment to sexual purity seems pointless. But my friend’s question deserves further thought and prayer. How does my allegiance to Christ inform the expression of my natural sexual desires? What’s the spiritual purpose of abstinence?
I do not believe that God’s instructions to us on holy living are arbitrary or designed to frustrate us. And yet I don’t know if I can continue to cope without sex. My attempts to kerb my physical sexual urges have not been successful over the last year and I do not see how it is possible to continue for another year. It brings no joy and seems meaningless. How can this be God’s intent? And where is the "way of escape" promised in 1 Corinthians 10:13?
For several weeks I have been seriously investigating the option of turning to an “escort” and imagining how it would play out. What would it achieve? At what risk? Several people have advised me that this is a time when I should be looking after my own interests and caring for myself: I think they’d be surprised to know the direction of my thinking in that regard!
Today, that option seems less attractive than it was. Although it seems like fun, it does not yet seem right. So that plan is on hold -- for now. But something must change. Abstinence is killing me.
Hate is not a normal part of my vocabulary, but I absolutely hate this situation I am in. And I am angry that H has forced me into a position where I am considering such as option. I hate the waste of time and energy I am spending to mutilate a part of me that should have been a source of joy and blessing.
In this and other matters I am really lost. I don’t know where I am or where I am heading, and I have lost track of where North is. I am carried along by the momentum of my past discipline, but without my past confidence or peace.
—Nat
Seems to me, as is clear in this other post, that I have held to the former idea. And consequently, now that my marriage has failed, the commitment to sexual purity seems pointless. But my friend’s question deserves further thought and prayer. How does my allegiance to Christ inform the expression of my natural sexual desires? What’s the spiritual purpose of abstinence?
I do not believe that God’s instructions to us on holy living are arbitrary or designed to frustrate us. And yet I don’t know if I can continue to cope without sex. My attempts to kerb my physical sexual urges have not been successful over the last year and I do not see how it is possible to continue for another year. It brings no joy and seems meaningless. How can this be God’s intent? And where is the "way of escape" promised in 1 Corinthians 10:13?
For several weeks I have been seriously investigating the option of turning to an “escort” and imagining how it would play out. What would it achieve? At what risk? Several people have advised me that this is a time when I should be looking after my own interests and caring for myself: I think they’d be surprised to know the direction of my thinking in that regard!
Today, that option seems less attractive than it was. Although it seems like fun, it does not yet seem right. So that plan is on hold -- for now. But something must change. Abstinence is killing me.
Hate is not a normal part of my vocabulary, but I absolutely hate this situation I am in. And I am angry that H has forced me into a position where I am considering such as option. I hate the waste of time and energy I am spending to mutilate a part of me that should have been a source of joy and blessing.
In this and other matters I am really lost. I don’t know where I am or where I am heading, and I have lost track of where North is. I am carried along by the momentum of my past discipline, but without my past confidence or peace.
—Nat
Tuesday 7 February 2012
One is the loneliest number...
For a change, I'm not going to write about how lonely and painful losing my wife is. Instead, I want to repeat my invitation to become part of this blog. It's getting lonely being the only author here.
As I've written before, the intention of this blog has never been for me to be the sole contributor. I write with the hope that I can voice my own grief, for sure. I also hope that my words might express the grief of being left by a wife, on behalf of countless other men. But my greatest hope for this blog is that it becomes a place where men struggling through this horrible time in their lives could do so in solidarity with each other.
Would you like to share your own story, or observations on mine? Are there other people you know who might like to join in?
—Nat
As I've written before, the intention of this blog has never been for me to be the sole contributor. I write with the hope that I can voice my own grief, for sure. I also hope that my words might express the grief of being left by a wife, on behalf of countless other men. But my greatest hope for this blog is that it becomes a place where men struggling through this horrible time in their lives could do so in solidarity with each other.
Would you like to share your own story, or observations on mine? Are there other people you know who might like to join in?
—Nat
Monday 23 January 2012
Wesley and Wesley
Just as I was finishing the last post, a weird connection came to mind about my two recent references to Wesley: the Wesley who, in The Princess Bride, says “As you wish” to his beloved Buttercup, and John Wesley, whose Covenant Prayer says “Put me to what thou wilt”. I have been saying, in different forms, “As you wish” to both H and to God. And in neither case does it seem that my eagerness to serve has been honoured.
Now I’ll have to go away and think about what that means …
—Nat.
Now I’ll have to go away and think about what that means …
—Nat.
Sunday 22 January 2012
God gave me a stone
In Carrion Comfort, Hopkins alludes to a Biblical passage in which Jacob wrestles overnight with a stranger. Neither can get the upper hand, but Jacob is left with a limp. Hopkins interprets Jacob’s struggle as a metaphor for his own, and in the morning after the struggle, both Jacob and Hopkins understand that at its core their struggle was with God.
It will be clear to readers of this blog that I approach my failed marriage from a Christian perspective, and yet that presents more of a challenge than a comfort. I hope that my story is relevant to all men whose wives have left them, and that my Christian faith does not obstruct a feeling of solidarity about such loss. But each of our stories is unique and it is inevitable that mine is infused with God.
On the surface, the breakdown of a marriage is a struggle between husband and wife, and as I have written before, I have been intensely hurt by H and angry with her mis-use of me. But like Jacob and Hopkins, I recognise that beyond (beneath?) my grief is a struggle with God who also seems to have mis-used me. It seems to me that God has led me into this mess and my anger about the whole situation is directed at God perhaps as much as at H.
Jesus once said “Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for fish, will give him a snake? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him?” I prayed earnestly for years during my 20’s that God would help me become a good man, fit for the right wife. I was willing to never marry if God saw that to be best for me. When H and I were considering marriage I fasted for 4 (or was it 5?) days because I knew it was such an important decision. But if God guided me at all through that time it was to lead me into a commitment that has ended in this debacle. The marriage God seemed to have given me has been a cold, hard stone that has provided no nourishment.
Jesus also said “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be satisfied.” I may be arrogant in the extreme, but I claim the same standing as Job who, especially in Chapter 31, claims he is blameless. I have sought after righteousness since early teens. But I am nowhere near satisfied.
I am *not* claiming that since I have been so good (ha!), God owes me something in return. Whether I deserve better or not has no bearing at all. My complaint is that I have not found God’s self-portrayal to be accurate. I have believed in a God who cares for me personally; who has my (and your!) best interests at heart; the good shepherd; the ideal parent. I have entrusted that God with my complete allegiance.
What’s more, I have, at numerous times in my life, given that God permission to do whatever God pleases with me. I have prayed John Wesley’s radical Covenant Prayer and put myself at God’s disposal in many other ways. So perhaps I have only myself to blame.
But why didn’t God warn us before we were married? Why, when H and I had the very best of intentions, did God not mediate between us to fulfil the apparent intention of marriage? Why does it seem that God is now leading H away from me? How can any of that be good for me?
I no longer believe that God looks out for my personal interests. It seems more likely that although God cares for all people, the complexity of reality makes it impossible to bring about everyone’s best interests and in this case I have become the fall guy carrying the consequences of H’s best interest. Of course I write from the limited perspective of someone in the middle of the shit. God can yet bring some good out of it for me, but that’s evidence of God’s ability to redeem even the worst situation, not evidence that this miserable agony is in any way good. God has not delivered what Jesus promised.
—Nat
It will be clear to readers of this blog that I approach my failed marriage from a Christian perspective, and yet that presents more of a challenge than a comfort. I hope that my story is relevant to all men whose wives have left them, and that my Christian faith does not obstruct a feeling of solidarity about such loss. But each of our stories is unique and it is inevitable that mine is infused with God.
On the surface, the breakdown of a marriage is a struggle between husband and wife, and as I have written before, I have been intensely hurt by H and angry with her mis-use of me. But like Jacob and Hopkins, I recognise that beyond (beneath?) my grief is a struggle with God who also seems to have mis-used me. It seems to me that God has led me into this mess and my anger about the whole situation is directed at God perhaps as much as at H.
Jesus once said “Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for fish, will give him a snake? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him?” I prayed earnestly for years during my 20’s that God would help me become a good man, fit for the right wife. I was willing to never marry if God saw that to be best for me. When H and I were considering marriage I fasted for 4 (or was it 5?) days because I knew it was such an important decision. But if God guided me at all through that time it was to lead me into a commitment that has ended in this debacle. The marriage God seemed to have given me has been a cold, hard stone that has provided no nourishment.
Jesus also said “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they will be satisfied.” I may be arrogant in the extreme, but I claim the same standing as Job who, especially in Chapter 31, claims he is blameless. I have sought after righteousness since early teens. But I am nowhere near satisfied.
I am *not* claiming that since I have been so good (ha!), God owes me something in return. Whether I deserve better or not has no bearing at all. My complaint is that I have not found God’s self-portrayal to be accurate. I have believed in a God who cares for me personally; who has my (and your!) best interests at heart; the good shepherd; the ideal parent. I have entrusted that God with my complete allegiance.
What’s more, I have, at numerous times in my life, given that God permission to do whatever God pleases with me. I have prayed John Wesley’s radical Covenant Prayer and put myself at God’s disposal in many other ways. So perhaps I have only myself to blame.
But why didn’t God warn us before we were married? Why, when H and I had the very best of intentions, did God not mediate between us to fulfil the apparent intention of marriage? Why does it seem that God is now leading H away from me? How can any of that be good for me?
I no longer believe that God looks out for my personal interests. It seems more likely that although God cares for all people, the complexity of reality makes it impossible to bring about everyone’s best interests and in this case I have become the fall guy carrying the consequences of H’s best interest. Of course I write from the limited perspective of someone in the middle of the shit. God can yet bring some good out of it for me, but that’s evidence of God’s ability to redeem even the worst situation, not evidence that this miserable agony is in any way good. God has not delivered what Jesus promised.
—Nat
Wednesday 11 January 2012
Carrion Comfort (part 2)
Back in my post about CarrionComfort, I only got as far as commenting on the first four lines. So let me
pick up that theme again.
Here’s Hopkins' complete poem (virtually guaranteed to confuse and perhaps bore any but the English majors among you) and my very poor attempt at a paraphrase (virtually guaranteed to annoy the English majors).
Make sure you read the first verse loudly, with anger. It voices the defiance of every human against the burden of existence and against the God who causes, or at least allows, our suffering.
I won’t attempt any more detailed exposition, except to note the important allusions to Genesis 32:22-30, Matthew 27:46 and Psalm 22. What I do want to comment on is how I feel mistreated by God through my marriage and its ending, and the impact that is having on my faith. But that’s for the next posting.
—Nat.
Here’s Hopkins' complete poem (virtually guaranteed to confuse and perhaps bore any but the English majors among you) and my very poor attempt at a paraphrase (virtually guaranteed to annoy the English majors).
Make sure you read the first verse loudly, with anger. It voices the defiance of every human against the burden of existence and against the God who causes, or at least allows, our suffering.
Gerard Manly Hopkins
|
Nat Whilk Clerk
|
NOT, I’ll not, carrion
comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist—slack they may
be—these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I
can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish
day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible,
why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot
rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes
my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me
heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?
Why? That my chaff might
fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that
coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo!
lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
Cheer whom though? the hero
whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him?
O which one? is it each one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I
wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.
|
To give in to despair is an empty comfort, like feasting
on a rotting corpse. I will not accept that option.
Even though I am hanging on to whatever it means to be
human by no more than an unravelling thread, I WILL NOT let go.
I will not say “I can’t go on”. I can go on.
I can at least take one more step forward. I can last
the night and hope for a better day ahead. I will not give up.
But what the fuck’s going on here? What sadist is
playing this game with me?
What’s the point of kicking the world out of orbit and
sending lions to attack me?
Why stare at my brokenness as though feeding on it, why mock
me lying here like a pile of shit when all I want to do is run away and hide?
[The next day?] Ok, so I can see that suffering builds
character.
I’ve come to accept that principle and although it has
been hard going, I have nevertheless been given strength and joy and even
laughter.
But who should I cheer now that I’ve come out the other side
of such suffering? Do I praise the one in heaven who mistreated me?
Or do I give myself
a cheer for persevering through such mistreatment? Maybe it’s a bit of each.
I survived a godforsaken night that seemed like a year,
fighting an unknown assailant for no apparent … Oh shit! That was God!
|
I won’t attempt any more detailed exposition, except to note the important allusions to Genesis 32:22-30, Matthew 27:46 and Psalm 22. What I do want to comment on is how I feel mistreated by God through my marriage and its ending, and the impact that is having on my faith. But that’s for the next posting.
—Nat.
Monday 9 January 2012
Spoil myself?
Still pondering what I wrote a couple of weeks ago about monogamy. Can anyone tell me what value there is in sexual restraint once the opportunity for a lifelong partnership has been lost?
It seems to me that a large chunk of my reason for being chaste is no longer relevant. Once upon a time I thought my sexual desire would be uniquely expressed with one person; discovered and explored and nurtured and enjoyed and cherished in one contented and sacred relationship. Now I’d rather be chased than chaste :^)
I spent an annoyingly sleepless night wondering what it would be like to spoil myself with a high-class escort: a long night with a professional who knows how to please and able to act as though she enjoyed it. “Spoil myself” of course has a double meaning. It would seem a luxury, a treat. But would it taint or damage me? It doesn’t seem to me that it would – I am already “damaged goods” so to speak. The thought that such an indulgence would cost $3,000 or more is perhaps all that protects me from that option at the moment.
If I met someone else and we decided to marry, would it make a difference if I had numerous previous sexual partners? I think it makes a big difference the first time around – being a virgin allows that first relationship to be unique in the total giving of one’s body to the other. But now? Would either I or my imagined future partner be concerned if there had been 2 or 3 or 10 before?
—Nat
It seems to me that a large chunk of my reason for being chaste is no longer relevant. Once upon a time I thought my sexual desire would be uniquely expressed with one person; discovered and explored and nurtured and enjoyed and cherished in one contented and sacred relationship. Now I’d rather be chased than chaste :^)
I spent an annoyingly sleepless night wondering what it would be like to spoil myself with a high-class escort: a long night with a professional who knows how to please and able to act as though she enjoyed it. “Spoil myself” of course has a double meaning. It would seem a luxury, a treat. But would it taint or damage me? It doesn’t seem to me that it would – I am already “damaged goods” so to speak. The thought that such an indulgence would cost $3,000 or more is perhaps all that protects me from that option at the moment.
If I met someone else and we decided to marry, would it make a difference if I had numerous previous sexual partners? I think it makes a big difference the first time around – being a virgin allows that first relationship to be unique in the total giving of one’s body to the other. But now? Would either I or my imagined future partner be concerned if there had been 2 or 3 or 10 before?
—Nat
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