I have been feeling unbalanced. Though I am relaxed physically, finally letting the warm, long days buoy me gently down the stream, I’m still unbalanced at the core. I think it’s the strange evil lurking in politics, among other things for me, the usual questions of who I am, where I’m going.
My housemate is away for the summer. (he really is my housemate, a renter of a room) But he’s about as nice as a housemate can be. I miss his sweet energy. I went into his room yesterday to open a window after a storm. He left the door open when he left. His stuff is there, but the floor is empty because he packed up his air mattress. There is no rug. The late afternoon light came in through his uncovered windows and the hardwood floor glowed, amber lit from within. I felt a pang of poignancy. Ten months had passed since he moved in. Where is my life going?
I don’t want to infringe on his privacy any more than I already have. But you get the picture. He surrounds himself with the things he likes. His room gives off the same sweet energy as he.
As I left the room, I noticed a sheet of paper with an excerpt from Middlemarch by George Eliot. It seemed to be placed right where it could be noticed. He had been reading it for the third or fourth time before he left. We had discussed it’s subtlety and depth, and I said I ought to read it. Now it spoke to me.
“But I have a belief of my own, and it comforts me.”
“What is that?”
“That by desiring what is perfectly good, even when we don’t quite know what it is and cannot do what we would, we are part of that divine power against evil– widening the skirts of lights and making the struggle with darkness narrower.”
“That is a beautiful mysticism– it is a –”
“Please do not call it by any name… It is my life. I have found it out, an cannot part with it. I have always been finding out my religion, since I was a little girl. I used to pray so much– now I hardly ever pray. I try not to have desires merely for myself, because they may not be good for others, and I have too much already…”
“God bless you for telling me!”
“What is yourreligion?” said Dorothea. “I mean–not what you know about religion, but the belief that helps you most?”
“To love what is good and beautiful when I see it,” said Will. “but I am a rebel: i don’t feel bound, as you do, to submit to what I don’t like.”
“But if you like what is good, that comes to the same thing.”
Something about that moment triggered a release. The amber light, the sweet, soft air, the aura of his room, the spiritual simplicity of the excerpt, like beams of pure cleansing light through my soul. I broke down and wept openly for a few minutes. Everything seemed alright. It was all OK. Much needed catharsis. Poetic moment.
