When ink joins a with a pen, then the blank paper
can say something. Rushes and reeds must be woven
to be useful as a mat. If they weren’t interlaced,
the wind would blow them away.
Like that, God paired up
Creatures and gave them friendship.
Rumi, Essential Rumi, trsltd by Coleman Barks
I read over the Part I part, and I realized I went no where near where I meant to with it.
So I’ll try again.
Apparently it takes a really long time for something to slip down between the folds of my psyche. I’m slow like that at times.
One of the big sayings at the Unity church which I attend is “Know that you know that you know.” Which, on an intellectual level, I got. There is a difference, obviously, between intellectually understanding and really, really getting something.
I don’t know the particular moment that I got that I got that I got it, just that I didn’t at one point, and then I did.
There was a particular moment when I realized something absolutely wonderful, though. There was a shining, singular moment when something spectacular and fabulous and utterly wonderful occurred to me. There was a shining, singular moment when I realized something so profoundly simple.
That I didn’t have to be fat anymore.
This is how I knew that I had been healed. Completely, irrevocably healed. Because I didn’t have to be fat anymore.
I think that everything thing we hold onto in our lives serves us, otherwise we wouldn’t hold onto it. Everything from fishing poles to farting friends, there is a purpose for everything in our lives.
I knew why I held on to my fat. Hell, I had anecdotal evidence that it was doing exactly what I wanted it to do. And when it appeared that it wasn’t, it wasn’t keeping a wall between other people and me, I’d gain more because, surely it just wasn’t enough!
And there I was, bless my little heart, completely “over” this “bad thing” eating like a dog any time I’d get hit on. But I was perfectly okay, you know. Perfectly. Healthy, happy, gonna lose weight one day. Nothing to see here, move along.
There is one particular incident that flashes so brightly in my memory that it’s painful to even think about.
I was sitting outside a country-bumpkin store with my friend Melissa’s little boys, in her car while she ran in the store. A guy pulled up next to our car, and he started talking to me.
And I panicked. I couldn’t go anywhere. I had kids with me and their mom was in the store.
They were being rowdy, so I yelled at them. That was bad enough that I yelled, but even as I was doing it, I knew why I was doing it.
He kept talking around the boisterous kids and the yelling chick. Wanted my number, wanted to go out. Blah blah blah.
Which sort of struck me as strange, considering, for all he knew these kids were mine and it was my husband in the store.
But whatever. I told him I wasn’t from around there. “Oh, I’m not, either, but we could have coffee or something.”
I told him I was staying with my girlfriend, and I was on a flight back home tomorrow. “Where you from?” he asked me.
My mind went blank, and I sputtered the first thing I could think of, “Canada.”
I wanted to think of some place cool, Nepal maybe. Nice or something. But I realized that I had no accent.
So I said Canada, and then, God help me, purposely began putting “aboot” in sentences. “What part?” he asked.
“Vancouver, you know, West-side.” Like it was all hip and shit to say aboot and be West-side V-town.
Then Melissa came out, and we drove away with the poor Georgia boy probably wondering what the hell just happened.
I don’t remember what we had for dinner that night, but there was a lot of ice cream. A LOT. Because making up silly stories wasn’t enough, apparently. Someone, despite my best intentions, had asked me out, and I panicked.
And that was my life. In different scenarios, in different ways and different reactions, that was my life.
And looking back, I get how much I valued disconnection. I’m not quite certain the bridge between possible sexual partners and friends, but I noticed that I had very few close friends, and mostly ones that I had known for years because I wasn’t willing to really make any new ones.
I was afraid, sure. Being truly friendly was terrifying in that unknown, intangible way. Because then people might start having expectations. And they may start relying on me. And then, God help me, I just might have to step up and be responsible.
And I’m going off on another tangent again, but I do that.
When I realized I didn’t have to be fat anymore, everything changed. Actually, I think it changed before that, but that was the moment that I got it. And I thought it had to do with sex and relationships and things like that, which would have been miraculous enough, but it is proving to be so far encompassing that I think I’ll be discovering things in new ways for a long, long time to come. But I think at the core of it is that I no longer value disconnection. Connection is vital to me in regards to anything I interact with, be it books, people, animals, God, whatever.
And learning to live as someone vitally connected to her life in all facets seems to be my big, new fabulous adventure. And I’m giddy, giddy like a kid on Christmas Eve giddy, although it is almost every single day of my life. And it is big. And new. And fabulous.
At its very core, reconnection is the nature of my miracle. I didn’t have anything taken away, although I thought I had. I didn’t have anything purged, covered up, or removed. I simply had everything connected.
And I am so very, very, very grateful.