I like naming things. I think this is primarily because I really like words. I like words a lot, because it has been my experience that they are a source of beauty, of power, and ideally, of authenticity. I read some beautiful words today that named important things.
I tend to name things, especially heavy things, with a certain amount of levity. This can be for self-full reasons and it can sometimes be because I have a wee tendency to efface my own feelings for the amusement of others. I recently named the month of June of this year “Galactic Collision 2014,” and feel pretty clever about that. Here is what happened:
Shaun wrote this:
And then such people become the source of the strings of others, pulling them towards this ugliness. They become one source of misanthropy, collecting people mired in anger, hatred, and judgment temporarily. Often, they collect as many people as they can, so long as they are useful, especially if such people are willing to exist around this misanthropy due to cowardice, apathy, or through being led to believe that they might be an exception to such misanthropy–a nice thought, to be an exception! The longer such people remain in such quarters, the longer it feels natural, normal, and even superior.
And I was briefly struck by this image of us all sort of careening through a galaxy, where the way that people are is like a certain kind of gravity, and that coming too close or plotting an uncareful course can land us in an orbit that normalizes that way of being. If you circle a star or a planet long enough, it looks like home. It looks like YOUR home. And leaving home is so hard, because out there is Not Like Home Was, and it’s like you forget that OUT THERE is your real home, and you used to have your own kind of being, and it was Really Good Being You. You just were smaller, or more flexible, or less dense, or made of the right stuff to turn into an asteroid belt for whatever larger energy field happened to be in your path.
It’s funny, because I often playfully tell Tom that he is my sun, and I am his satellite, orbiting happily around the place that feeds my plants and moves my oceans, and helps me feel that I belong in a place and have meaning. But I think it’s because his gravity is HIS, you know? Plus, he reminds me that I change his orbit by being there. I’m not small and insignificant: I make him wobble around
a whole lot.
But we’re not always so fortunate. Sometimes the quirks of our characters make us more susceptible to acquisition, and sometimes even another satellite to a toxic star can pull us away from our real homes and our real selves. Escaping that orbit is hard, and requires help from our true gravitational homes. This happened to me, recently, while interacting with an Event Horizon
of toxicity. I consider myself really fortunate, because I got to a point where I just kept spinning faster and faster, hoping to keep all of my tectonic plates on me, and keep the core of my little planet from leaking out into my atmosphere. A collision happened, blowing me clear of the inevitable assimilation I was facing, whereupon I’m pretty confident I would have lost myself entirely. And then, something magical happened. There was this whole constellation of people (with Tom at the center of them all) ready to set me straight on my axis, like, “hey there, li’l planet you’ve had a tough time just now so let’s just get you back and situated in the places where you don’t have to fit in — you just belong.”
And I like that idea and I think it is really beautiful and I’m glad it is happening and I wanted to share it with you.
Except not The End at all. More like, Decidedly the Glorious Middle.