Another Side of the Moon

Piece of Glass words and music by Derek Webb and Danielle Young, performed by Caedman's Call, Long Line of Leavers album. Can't believe that I did it again, wake me up from this nightmare 'Cause this monster is wasting me away and taking my days Every day I live a bit less, one night leads to another Even if I went back would they recognize me? or criticize me? Who are you that lies when you stare at my face? Telling me that I'm just a trace of the person I once was 'Cause I just can't tell if you're telling the truth or a lie On you I just can't rely, After all you're just a piece of glass Still I control this nightmare, when I call it answers But I can't tell it when to come or when to stay Don't talk, listen Hold me tighter Stay with me just for a while Until the sun shines stay with me Just give me one more day Who are you that lies when you stare at my face? Telling me that I'm just a trace of the person I once was 'Cause we're not the same, you're just a picture of me You're gone as soon as I leave, you've lived your life for me And you're no more than a piece of glass You're no more than just a piece of glass

If I had the motivation to actually produce a self-portrait today, it would be on a square canvass, produced with watered-down acrylics and gold, silver, red, black, and grey pens. I would paint myself sitting alone, my face devoid of emotion. But no one but my artist would know that fact, because my features are hopelessly blurred and obscured by layers upon layers of words- the endless circling thoughts I can't purge from my mind, even when asleep. It's probably a good thing my thoughts are cyclical- they're the only part of me left that remains three dimensional. The rest of me is flat, faded, and parched- a sun-bleached poster facing out of a neglected shop window.... or one of those creepy spinning blocks at the Toronto Science Centre where four individuals' faces are pasted on four sides of a cube, then the cube is sliced into 3 layers so that eyebrows, eyes and nose, and mouth may be separated and recombined to form facial expressions of the basic human emotions according to the subjective whim of strangers. I don't think I can call this week "depression". The correct clinical term would characterize this short-term experience as "flat affect," which simply means "devoid of or lacking in emotion". "Zoe," Mel, Captain of the Serenity, looks at his second in command, "Are you here?" "To the job, sir," she replies stoically. "Hold, hold until I get back," he requests as much as commands. Her leaf on the wind is gone (Serenity, 2005, Universal Studios). Nothing was. She was not. There was no dark. There was no light. No sight nor sound nor touch nor smell nor taste. No sleeping nor waking. No dreaming, no knowing. Nothing. And then a surge of joy. All senses alive and awake and filled with joy. Darkness was, and darkness was good. As was light. Light and darkness dancing together, born together, born of each other, neither preceding, neither following, both fully being, in joyful rhythm. The morning stars sang together and the ancient harmonies were new and it was good. It was very good. And then a dazzling star turned its back on the dark, and it swallowed the dark, and in swallowing the dark it became dark, and there was something wrong with the dark, as there was something wrong with the light. And it was not good. The glory of the harmony was broken by screeching, by hissing, by laughter which held no merriment but was hideous, horrendous cacophony... "Where are we?" [Charles Wallace] asked, wanting Gaudior to tell him that they were not in his own Where, that this could not possibly be the place of the star-watching rock, of the woods, only a few minutes' walk from the house. Gaudior's words trembled with concern. "We're still here, in your own Where, although it is not yet a real When." "Will it be?" "It is one of the Projections we have been sent to try to prevent. The Echthroi will do everything in their power to make it real." A shudder shook the boy's slight frame as he looked around at the devastated landscape. "Gaudior- what do we do now?" "Nothing. You mustn't loosen your hold on my mane. They want us to do something, and anything we do might be what they need to make this Projection real." "Can't we get away?" The unicorn's ears flicked nervously. "It's very difficult to find a wind to ride when one has been blown into a Projection." -A Swiftly Tilting Planet (1978) Madeleine L'Engle, pp. 49-50, 69.

My Many Colored Days (1996) Dr. Seuss, illustrations by Steve Johnson & Lou Fancher

Some days are yellow. Some are blue. On different days I'm different too. You'd be surprised how many ways I change on different colored days. On Bright Red Days how good it feels to be a horse and kick my heels! On other days I'm other things. On Bright Blue Days I flap my wings. Some days, of course, feel sort of brown. Then I feel slow and low, low down. Then comes a Yellow Day. And, WHEEEEEEEEEEE I am a busy, buzzy bee. Gray Day...Everything is gray. I watch. But nothing moves today. Then all of a sudden I'm a circus seal! On my Orange Days that's how I feel. Green Days. Deep deep in the sea. Cool and quiet fish. That's me. On Purple Days I'm sad. I groan. I drag my tail. I walk alone. But when my days are Happy Pink it's great to jump and just not think. Then comes my Black Days. MAD. And Loud. I howl. I growl at every cloud. Then comes a Mixed-Up Day. And WHAM! I doN't KNow wHo or WhaT i aM! But it all turns out all right, you see. And I go back to being...me.

This post is becoming exceedingly long, I know. I won't apologize. I needed to process. But you are permitted to take breaks when your eyes are burning from staring at a glowing screen. A song, a movie, a book, a poem, borrowed words, stolen time. Concentrate. You can do it. It's just a three page paper. And you love thematic analysis. You've had harder assignments in High School. But it has to be perfect and I'm flawed and I'm tired and I can't focus and I'm scared of failing and I can't I can't I can't. It's just...a three...page...paper!!! You're not expected to find every last theme in the book, just the obvious ones. Come on, it's due by the end of the week and you need to be moving onto other things. Jen wants you to come out to the book publishing party tomorrow night. GET IT DONE! Television. I watched five episodes of Hogan's Heroes on Monday night with my parents to honour the war Veterans. Neither my mom nor I had it in us to watch something realistic like Saving Private Ryan or Black Hawk Down. We roared with laughter then it was over, my parents went to bed, and I felt empty again. I sat on the floor with my dog; petted him a long time with Chasey sitting on the floor across from me, doing our best to say good-bye in a language he could understand. He's gone now. My ambivalence about going along for the last ride to the farm was taken out of my hands- my dad took him after work today, while I was at school writing another physiological psychology exam. My mom and I kept asking You to just let him die in his sleep. He wouldn't, despite his inability to swallow water without choking, despite being nothing but bones, oozing slime, and sweaty fur. Dad, Melanie, and Chasey waited out of respect for our wishes, but the hour glass sand poured out in deadly silence. Her leaf on the wind is gone. Maybe it's better this way. I didn't want my last memory of him to be watching his final breath, or touching him in a state of rigor mortise first thing in the morning on my way to breakfast. Still, it seems cowardly to want death so far removed and sterile. It's just an inevitable part of being corporal. You're just a piece of glass... "Faye, let me know ahead of time when you're going to leave. I want to pray for you before you go," Lisa requests. "All right," I agree congenially. I knew she would. That's why I came. Sindy was my prophet before, but now she lives far away and I need someone to hear for me and to tell me what they hear; no coddling, softening, or warping. Because I can't I can't I can't... First she probes my mood. She's checking to make sure there's still a range into the positive. Oddly rapid cycles of emotion for me, but, Yes. It's like a Monet- splatters of blurry colours everywhere, but there is range, I assure her. She smiles and I smile back. Messy is her word. Silence. She listens. I'm trying to do the same, I really am. Why did I write Joshua 7:13 on the wall? What's causing this fatigue? What if I'm re-living Amy's journey of visiting endless streams of doctors who all tell her the same thing: it's stress-related and really there's nothing wrong with me and I'm becoming a hypochondriac when I just need to trust God more? What if I have brain cancer and God tells me I can't seek medical treatment- I just need to have faith that He'll remove it? What if I'm supposed to be following that British spiritual teacher's advice (what is his name again? Nolan would know. Nolan has his instructional c-ds) and giving away whatever it is I need so God can play a one-up game with me and give me even more back and the only reason I'm feeling and doing so poorly is because I'm not playing right? I can't I can't I can't At last, the verdict: "I'm seeing a picture of...confusion. Your mind: a dark, swirling mass of...thoughts. But not in a healthy, processing way- chaotic." She looks at me for confirmation. "Yes!" I said, surprised and relieved. Not surprised that God told her, surprised at his answer. One sentence to sum up what I took at least ten minutes trying to describe without knowing what it really was. Normally I'm so good at sorting, labelling, and summarizing my internal being, but this time I couldn't. Lisa commands the chaos to still, to rest, to quiet. It sort of does. Lisa and Angie together: getting a sense of how much God adores you. You're so beautiful, so cherished by Him. He doesn't want anything of you, he just wants you to be still in his presence, to rest and be healed. Angie instructs me to lie down on a pillow, listen to a song she has in her head from God for me. Usually it skips but we'll see what happens. No skippage. No idea who the artist was, or what album it came off of, or the title of the song...but the chorus skips on in my head, "You are the pearl He came to find. You are the pearl He came to find." A single tear slips down my cheek and I stare at the ceiling. Why am I always the one in need of healing? Why can't I be done with this and stop wasting people's time and energy? I hate making people worry about me, hate always taking, hate being the joy sucker. I'm a black hole in space. You are the pearl He came to find. You are my treasure. The gates of heaven will be made of pearls. I was incredulous when I first read that. I couldn't understand why. There are so many prettier gems God could use for the giant gates to His city. "Pearls are formed through the suffering of an innocent," Pastor Mark informed his congregation back in the days when there still was one to preach to. "They're pieces of gravel or dirt that are stuck in the shell of an oyster, who is unsuccessful at spitting them out. The gravel gets rolled over and over in the oyster's mouth, getting coated in the same phosphorescent white coating as the inside of the oyster's shell. Sometimes the dirt or gravel gets in accidentally, other times humans 'plant' the particles in the oyster intentionally so they can later 'harvest' pearls for retail." Christ is our oyster. Sounds like a t-shirt motto. You are the pearl He came to find. I don't know what to do with that. "Basically, praise God for who He is, and come before Him. Let Him sit on your praises. Let Him be crowned King over all of you, your mind, time, emotions, your heart. The door will open, and then cry out to Him, and he will hear you. Have faith and claim the promises He's given you in His Word. Don't let Satan tempt you to despair. Don't believe any lies. Find the Truth and claim it because Jesus died for you to live in freedom. Don't let anything pull you away from reading the Living Word every day, no matter what you feel like," Amy wrote the same week. And again, "Christ needs to dwell in our hearts through faith. Everything you are doing is out of love. When that love [is absent from?] your heart, your spirit is detroned by your mind [and] we so quickly get stressed and wonder 'what is all this for?' And we are such creative people...and very special. You are very important to God, Faye, and you have something very important to do for His glory. Pray what this means: Trust the Lord with all your heart, lean not on your own understanding. I just hear God saying...be in tune with your spirit. Do not look to the world, but to God's heart. He's given you an amazing mind to grasp things, but your heart must come first or else you will fall. And just remember the first commandment: To love the Lord your God with all your heart, strength soul mind. But pray about what exactly this means. Surrender to his presence. The Holy Spirit is with you right now. He is as much God as the Father and the Son seated in heaven. God is with you! And He wants you to know Him more and discover who He is and to make your heart like His."

Joshua 7:13 "Get up! Command the people to purify themselves in preparation for tomorrow. For this is what the LORD, the God of Israel, says: Hidden among you, O Israel, are things set apart for the LORD. You will never defeat your enemies until you remove these things from among you."