Word whimsy, or, The Dubya/Kerry Debate Moirail poetry slam

This shouldn't have been a surprise, after all, my moirail and I are no stranger to co-creating the weirdest English associative masterpieces ever. But more recently, we've been far more focused on analysis and elucidating patterns, and silliness has mostly fallen by the wayside. 

One of the marks of a remarkable connection with another, I feel, is the ability to slip seamlessly into thinking or working together with almost nothing being said, where the next part of the sequence of events emerges naturally and creatively, where one role flows seamlessly into the other - as my French polisher friend might say, 'You can't see the join.' I can count on the fingers of one hand the people I can do this with, and Ari has always been one. 

Don't get me wrong - what Ari terms the 'hive mind' is no Borg mind. Seamless teamwork means thinking together, not thinking as one - and this is an essential difference. Knowing what the other is doing or about to do is not the same as defining it. As I said to her, 'We operate/grab the same principle, but within that principle, we operate individually.' So: when Ari rhymed, we both grabbed the rhyme principle, agreed upon it, but operated as ourselves within it, communicating any evolving changes naturally.  So each person is actually operating in two versions of flow: their own and the combined flow to achieve the common goal.  Therefore, though you will see that we're operating by a common set of principles and objectives, our individual essences glow through each one of our contributions - and the whole is more than the sum of our parts.

This was the second time in 10 days I've been blessed by such flow, but as ever, when it comes to Ari, it was nothing expected, and something whimsically weird, that set us off: her parsing of the Dubya/Kerry 2004 debates. 

It began with an innocent enough email:

John Kerry in the third Kerry/Bush dubate from 2004:

'It's against the law in the United States to hire people illegally.'
I... I would never have guessed....

Me: Me either. Shocking, isn't it???

Ari: Yes!! God, it's totally given me a different perspective on... on everything.

Me: Like, TOTAL GAME-CHANGER, YOU KNOW? WOW.

Ari: IKR??? Everything I thought I knew has just been flipped over. I mean, SHIT.

Me: Like, as upside down as Purim. V'nahafoch hu.

Ari: My mind can't even take it in, you know? This is not the world I thought I knew!

Me (thinking, and informing Ari by gchat, 'SHIT, we're rhyming): How do you even begin to cope when NONE of what you've always believed is true?

Ari: I... I don't think I can cope. I'm going to have to start anew.

Me: I might have to sue...

Ari: Fuck, you too???

Me: I'm afraid 'tis true...may even have to lie down in my pew.

Ari: O woe, that the folly of our times should have gotten even to you...

Me: It is even difficult to find joy in the letter 'q'...

Ari: The horror, the horror! One more reason that the election of Dubya over the profound sagacious Kerry was an event to rue!

Me: That, but even more the result of the 2000 election, just...blew.

Ari: 'Twas a dark day indeed, a harbinger of bitter years to come. They say that September the eleventh was our nation's loss of innocence, but for me... that travesty was when I knew.

Me: The darkest of days - songs of hope fell silent, brave hearts trembled and angels held their breath - when one moment set the whole world askew.

Ari: Aye, that was when it became apparent to all that dire portents were starting to brew.

Me: ...and festering hatreds really started to stew. Alas, moirail, 'tis time for me to leave work, so I must bid you adieu! Do carry on if you wish to continue!

Ari: Eight years later, a new direction was long overdue. Farewell, farewell, and may the post-work frivolities ensue! I love you.

Me: It truly was, that joyous day, when winds of hope blew through. I promise they shall, dear moirail, and I love you too! < <3>

Ari: < <3>


(Note: <> is the symbol for moirail, which most closely resembles a heartsister/heartbrother, with the added component of balancing each other. Ari and I have modified it to essentially mean 'moirail hug' by the addition of a heart in the middle.)

A note on unconditional love

This evening, as I've been faffing online, desultorily chatting with friends, Q popped up with this:

Q: I love you!

Me [touched and taken aback, as Q is not given to such declarations]: ? I love you too!

Q: Just having a lousy day and saw you pop on, and it was, like a fresh breeze. "Oh look! Someone who's not a big ball of drama! I'm so glad she's my friend."

Me [currently in puddle of 'awwww!']: HUGS

Q: So, I thought I should tell you so.
 
Me: I've felt that way about you so much, I can't tell you.  The feeling is SO mutual. Added to that was, 'Oh look, it's someone who loves me no matter what!'

Q: Yeah, that too.  Even when I'm grumpy, I still love you.

Blinking back tears, I tried to work out, aside from the obvious, what had really hit me. I find it hard to hear that I'm loved; feeling loved is even harder. But this exchange hit me differently, and I pondered it for a few minutes.

Then it struck me - this: Even when I'm grumpy, I still love you.

Even when I'm grumpy. That was it. Not Even when you're grumpy, which essentially reads, 'Even when you're a crappy pain in the ass, I love you. Aren't you grateful? Aren't I wonderful?' but 'Even when I'm in a shitty, crappy, horrible inhuman mood, even when I'm not perfect or feeling loving, I LOVE YOU.'

Why not the first? Because unconditional love assumes the first. Unconditional love is just that - 'No matter what, I love you.' It rarely, if ever, needs saying, because it's a premise, a foundation, of love. Anything else is just approval. 

[ETA] Also, as Ari just pointed out, when you love someone, you're not thinking, 'They're at their crappiest. Ugh. I want to be elsewhere.'  You're thinking, 'How do I make them feel better? Have I made it worse? What can I do?'  You are just loving them - you want their suffering to stop; you want them to be happy.

That doesn't mean that it's always feeling sweetness and light, far from it. Real love has darkness, depth and edges as well as light and curves, encompassing the entire spectrum of emotions - or lack thereof. We don't always FEEL love.

As I said to another friend as I was trying to tease it out:

It's the knowing when you can't FEEL it that matters. E.g., it's a given that I love you no matter what. That I loved you in October 2010 when we had that massive fight. I knew that; there was no question that no matter what happened - I loved you. It was knowing it through my absolute rage that was the test.

Not through HER rage or HER actions, thinking, 'Oh, you're acting like this, I still love you.' NO. Love cannot be withdrawn; approval can. Love simply is, and no matter how we act out our humanity, unconditional love is there, so much bigger than we imagine, holding the space for us to be ourselves as we unfold through the storm, whether we are imploding or battering at those around us. 

What matters is knowing through MY rage, my imperfection, my inability to feel it at the time, that the love is there - like the stars during the day or the blue sky behind the darkest storm. 

THAT is the test. THAT is what is real.

No matter what, I love you. Even when I'm grumpy.

Day 30: GC, Relationship

I was going to title this friendship, but looking back across my entries, it seems obvious that the thread running through them is a broader than that, it is about relationship: with ourselves, with God, with others, with the world around us.

For the chance to BE in relationship, I am grateful. I may refuse it; I may not be fully engaged sometimes; I may stumble my way through it. But when I'm there, being in relationship is the most amazing thing: whether it is with the moment, the ocean, a child, a friend - even someone whom I find difficult.

My feeling has always been that we cannot learn in a vacuum - we only ever learn in relationship: we have to engage with the material, engage with the teacher, engage with those around us. We learn most about ourselves when we are most vulnerable in the intimacy of relationship: deeply in tune with or deeply challenged by: others, ourselves, organisations, long-standing beliefs, our environment.

We can only ever learn if we are intimate, allowing people and things to touch us, to help shape us - smoothing out edges, knocking off corners, breaking through shells, allowing the real us to emerge. This cannot happen if we shut ourselves off from relationship.

Relationship and intimacy can be frightening: one has to be vulnerable and there is no controlling the Other. It's unpredictable, unexpected, can be incredibly painful, always transformational, and if we allow it, often magical.

But although it is deep, intimacy need not always be serious: it encompasses all emotions, and think of how one often knows a couple is close: shared smiles; shared laughter; a gentle tease.

In fact, humour is one of the best ways to connect - to enter intimacy and confirm closeness.

This morning, just such an occasion happened with one of my closest friends, when she mentioned she was off to make tea. I announced that I was considering marrying the plush ferret she gave me for my birthday, Ramachni (named after a beloved mage in Robert Redick's Chathrand Voyage). She completely approved, noting that she would marry her plush black panther, Magick.

I, however, had a problem in that I had fallen in love with this lot, who tap right into my weakness for the emotionally wounded, so I suggested that I would have to be plushly polyandrous, which led to the following discussion at her blog, where she'd posted our discussion:

Me:
Of course, what midnightsidhe neglects to mention is that she is the one who set me up with Ramachni! Another reason we are best friends.

*Returns to viewing 'plush animal grooms' website*

xx

midnight_sidhe:
Well, I do try to remain modest about my match-making abilities, you see.

Also, you know what this means, don't you? If we're going to be Gonzo's sister-wives and the other primaries in this arrangement are Ramachni and Magick, not to mention all the other plush grooms you may acquire? WE ARE TOTALLY GOING TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD.

xxx

Me:
Well indeed. Best not to be known as a shadchan; before you know it, you'll be inundated by humans and plushies looking for black market marriages.

Indeed, which means I will have to select my harem carefully. Dr Wood from the Clinic is a must, as is Dolly - that shapeshifting ability could come in handy for our plans of world domination...

xx


midnight_sidhe wrote:
Yes, exactly. It's not a vocation of mine, after all; I am merely a talented amateur.

She'enedra! *gasp* I do hope you weren't intending to select your harem irresponsibly before you realised the full implications of our impending domestic arrangement! One must take care not to be indiscriminate in these matters! Especially with your weakness; you could get sadly taken advantage of. Not all wolves-in-sheep's-clothing are like Dolly.

xxx


Me:
*Gasps in horror at the near disaster*

Oh, she'enedra! What was I thinking; I was going to marry for plushness and affection, even plushy need, NOT for the world domination plans. Ramachni has set me right on that. I was even considering a plush Tyrannosaurus Rex until Ramachni gently pointed out that short T-Rex arms combined with a massive head were completely useless when it came to world domination. I was crestfallen, but had to acknowledge his point.

What would I do without the two of you - my Gonzo sister-wife and my plush First Mate to keep me focused on the larger goal?

xx

midnight_sidhe wrote:
You would end up with forty-two plush husbands, all of whom were so severely wounded that they would be completely useless in our world domination plans. And you'd spend so much time helping them that you would be too, and this would be a problem, because Gonzo and I are too chaotic neutral to be left in charge and Magick is too prone to getting into complicated affairs with the wives of the wrong cats, and you wouldn't want your poor First Mate left trying to keep the rest of us in line, now would you?

While I agree with Ramachni that T-Rex is not really well-suited to inclusion in your plush-husband stable, may I suggest that there are other respects in which he might be useful? Suppose we need a diversion, say, or just to terrify a group of people. I should think T-Rex would be most useful under such circumstances.

But, you know, I don't think it would be a disaster if some of your mates were chosen for affection and plushy need. No reason to make dynastic sacrifices here; political unions can be problematic.

xxx

When someone gets you well enough to have the above conversation, you don't need serious to know it doesn't get much closer - and it has been one of the deepest friendships I've had - one that has pushed me the hardest, held the space in the darkest of times, kept me real and moved me light-years towards becoming my true self.

And that hard, deep work is only possible because we get each other well enough to discuss human-plush polyandry.

She'enedra - thank you is criminally insufficient, but I think you know the rest without my saying it, which speaks to the essence of this essay more eloquently than anything else I can say.

This one's for you.

GC, Day 18 - A free lunch

This week has been one where I am just beyond tired and cranky with humanity, though I've managed to keep up the gratitude challenge, even if I didn't start writing before 2300.

This weekend isn't much better, as I had a supervision today, a 90 minute Management Committee teleconference for my volunteer organisation, and a training day tomorrow (one I'm looking forward to, but it still means the loss of a lazy Saturday).

And to top it all off, next week is Paz's and Gosia's last week. Serious suckage.

Near the end of what had become a very intense group supervision, I felt my phone vibrate in my jacket pocket. It was only a few minutes before the end, so I waited till I walked out, thinking about what I was going to pick up for lunch.

As soon as I opened the message, I felt myself start to smile, and the spiky cynicism that had been at the surface all week start to ease.

It wasn't a message bringing life-changing happy news, or even a cute animal picture.

It was, quite simply, a text from Paz:

Hey I went to Cairo cafe and have looooadddsss left over so if you want it don't buy lunch!! It's moussaka and rice xx

A simple message of nurture and friendship. Clearly, there IS such a thing as a free lunch.

I went straight back to work and...guess what? Despite offering me half her lunch, Paz half-apologised for it being vegetarian.

*Affectionate eyeroll* P-doodle, it was fabulous. Thank you for taking care of me today, and most days.

And ja, I am going to miss you like hell, chick.

Selfish much?

Every so often, I pick up a women's mag and indulge one of my little guilty pleasures.

Equally often, I remember why I don't do this more often. Today was one such day.

I made the mistake of reading the agony aunt column (which I can never resist). Most of the questions were *amused eyeroll* questions.

And then...there was the *WTF-my-blood-pressure-just-hit-the-roof* question:

I have two best friends and we've been very close for years - I've asked them to be my bridesmaids. Last year, one of them lost a baby and then her partner, and we were there for her. But now she's never there for us. She didn't turn up for my birthday party and if we arrange a night out, she either turns up for five minutes or not at all. I want her as a bridesmaid, but I'm not sure she'd even turn up...

And if THAT QUESTION wasn't WTFable enough, Irma Kurtz's response is even MORE of an epic fail:

She can't be depended on as she can't depend on herself. Misery overrides her best intentions. You could uninvite her as your bridesmaid, using the excuse that it's too much for her. That puts the ball in her court and you may or may not lose her as your friend. Or you could go ahead as planned, giving her time to cheer up or drop out - perhaps even at the last minute. But what difference does that make. All that matters is your loving marriage ahead.

Yes, of course, that's all that matters. Because Irma is feeding the idea, you selfish waste of carbon molecules, that all that matters is you.

Why don't I take the time to do you a favour and tell you like it really is?

Your 'best friend' - in inverted commas because you are clearly no friend of any kind - has just suffered two of the *most devastating losses anyone can suffer* (even if the partner left rather than died - the latter being what is implied). You and your friends were, of course, 'there' for the requisite - what? fortnight? - till the funerals and then expected her to buck up and be the person she was two years ago, before she lost her child (read that again, her CHILD) and the partner she loved.

And of course, equating her not being able to attend your little 'birthday party' and the odd social gathering with 'not being there for you' makes so much sense. Because you need her to be there for you and support you whilst you're eating, laughing and necking shots. She, of course, doesn't need YOU whilst she's grieving (oh, I'm sorry - you think she should be over it), trying to fathom a life without her baby and her beloved, whilst she's struggling to keep her head above water. She has to show up, happy, chirpy, thrilled for YOU. I mean, how DARE she continue grieving eight, ten, twelve months on? It's impinging on YOUR perfect little life. So what if your marriage reminds her, like a knife twisted in the heart, of what she's lost? Who cares about her? You've done your 'pat her on the back and hand her tissues' quota, now she should forget about it all and be there for you as you eat, drink and get merry.

Bite me and every woman who knows what being a real friend is about, c***.

Let me tell you what a real friend would know, so maybe you can be one someday.

Irma is wrong. Your friend is not going through 'misery', she is going through deep, intense grief that is complicated because of the depth of the ties, the fact that she is suffering more than one loss, and that the losses are unexpected, at least in terms of order. She can't 'cheer up or drop out' (WTF, Irma??? 'Empathetic' in your vocabulary at all?). Children don't die before their parents. Partners don't die young. She has lost her FAMILY.

Grief doesn't have a time scale. It's not 'a few months and it's over', or 'after the funeral, she'll be back to her normal, tequila shot drinking self'. It is a cycle that can take YEARS - her life is completely, utterly shattered. She has to accept the loss, go all the way into it and feel the pain, then begin to re-organise her life. That is going to take time.

And even when she re-organises, she will never again be the carefree friend you had two years ago: she'll be deeper, stronger, darker - she'll know a pain that most people will likely never know.

One of the things she'll need to get there is more than a little help from her friends: friends who will let her grieve; who will gently guide her to CRUSE or therapy if she gets really stuck; friends who will understand when she can barely stay for a night out; who will listen. No, it won't be all girly giggles and drinking; but then real friendship isn't, is it?

Sorry, what was I thinking? You don't know what real friendship is. Selfish much?

My agony aunt advice to you, which Irma - whom Cosmo needs to fire before she can do any more damage - apparently couldn't think of?

Listen to her. Love her. Be there. Yes, your wedding is coming up, but guess what? Even at a time like this, the world isn't all about you. Because what's your wedding really about?

Relationship - for better for worse, dark and light, laughter and tears. It would behoove you to learn how to do that.

Right now, you need to start with your best friend.

Sometimes...

...IM really is the way to go. I have friends who hate IM with a passion - those who will groan the moment an IM window pops up and pretend they haven't seen it. I totally hear that - sometimes playing around on the computer in your room is the ONLY time you get to be on your own, you don't want to have to talk to someone else; you just want the downtime.

But I love it. I love the combination of writing and real-time communication - it allows me the medium in which I am most articulate, especially when I'm upset and instant gratification. It also means that misunderstandings that explode via email can be corrected within minutes rather than days.

I also love the stream of consciousness, the way you can begin in London but end up in Perth, Australia, figuratively speaking. You can also layer conversations - with one friend, there are often three conversations happening simultaneously - one as you'd expect, one in square brackets [] and one in curly brackets {}. Fabulous.

But I think my favourite moments are those where the conversation becomes real - whether you're honestly saying to eachother, "Hey, look, we need to sort this out,"; laughing hysterically b/c you're being yourself, wickedly planning...oops, I can't say anymore; or when you're opening up and being vulnerable - and a friend just virtually wraps you up in their affection for you and reminds you, in the midst of everything that seems to be coming at you from all directions, that they think - no matter how crabby you get, despite your high-maintenance moments, your prickliness in certain situations, your need to organise everyone from your friends down to the nearest duck, whatever - that they think you're the bee's knees, whilst saying, "Hey, babe, take a hard look." That to them, it's about who you are, not what you do.

My last entry was, to some extent, about friends who get it wrong - well now, let me take the time to say that more than 90% of the time, mine get it RIGHT. And over the last few weeks, some of you have gotten it SO right - those who have simply said, I'm sorry it's a crap time; those who PM, IM and weigh in on 'Irim is going to kill someone/go crazy or postal/quit/become a permanently bitter and twisted human being' statuses; the one of you that popped up on IM last night and made me laugh so hard I thought I was going to die; the one who just knows to come up and say, "Are you ok? Are you sure?" and who, when I said I needed to see you, was there in no time to just let me fall apart in a way that almost no one sees, able to hold the space calmly, solidly and easily, not freaking out or trying to fill it, just letting me cry. Thank you all. Love you.

But today, it was Anna who popped up when one more thing cropped up, something that necessitated me leaving work in North Oxford to go to work in Iffley and back again. When she asked what was up, I just spilled and, with her permission, I reprint her virtual wisdom, which was, as usual, expressed as a huge hug with a gentle smack round the head.

Anna
look at what you have just told me

12:33pmIrim
people who need an ear

12:33pmAnna
there are 3 things there you cannot sort out

12:33pmIrim
do I stay at church or go

12:33pmAnna
brother, friends

12:33pmIrim
true

12:33pmAnna
your course work isthe most important thing for now

12:34pmIrim
with my brother, it's just knowing that family ties are over
that even he doesn't want to be in touch.

12:35pmAnna
instead of writing it on here write it on paper and burn it and let it go, you have done all you can do without changing yourself into what they want you to be

12:35pmIrim
yeah

12:35pmAnna
be nice to you Irim

12:35pmIrim
I did good, didn't I?

12:36pmAnna
yeah
you did
and you have been true to yourself
I think you are amazing

12:38pmAnna
you are a strong beautiful woman who has the strength to stand against her entire culture to be who she is meant to be
family is blood and love, and is nothing without the love,
blood ties are very over rated xxx

12:40pmIrim
Thank you. HUGE HUG
Do you mind if I quote you on that?

Anna
yeah thats fine by me lol just so long as you credit me withthe profound wisdom lol

Accommodation

I'm tired of being accommodating.

I don't mind having flexible boundaries, not at all. I think there needs to be some give.

But I'm tired of being the one to make things 'all better' in a relationship, the first one to move towards some kind of resolution; the social secretary; the one who bites her tongue making allowances for others' moods; the one whose particular tendencies are first wanted, then excoriated when they no longer suit.

Do I set myself up? Yes. Do I get irritable? Yes. Can I be blunt? Guilty as charged. Do I love problem solving a little too much? Erm...ok, yeah. Can I be a bossyboots? HELL, yes. Do I make mistakes/errors in judgment? All. the. damn. time.

But is my heart in the right place? Pretty much.

People judge me all the time. I judge them; turnabout is fair play. It's not a problem if you don't know me; I don't really give a f*** that C or E from church think I look pissed off when I'm there. I generally am when I'm with OX2 'rah rah' types who kiss up to priests and treat everyone else like crap.

But if you KNOW me and make judgments without taking into account my personality, strengths, weaknesses, what you know is going on - if you don't make the allowances I generally make for you; if you treat me as some generic psychological specimen in a vacuum - problem. And it's even worse if you speak to me as if I were someone you don't know. I only do that when I'm coldly angry to the point of doing something irrevocable. Even then, I usually manage something friendly, unless I feel betrayed.

Taking personality and context into account when applying principles is the only way to make an approximation of someone's motives. Even then, you need to get around to asking them eventually.

But back to accommodation. Why do I do it? Because people are important. Far more important than things will ever be. If I'm measuring things up, people will always come in light-years ahead of things, and people are what I will bend over backwards to save. When I'm stressed, if I drop something, fine. If I drop someone, especially someone in crisis, there's no coming back from that. Bottom line.

I think one of the things that has really gotten to me over the last while or so is feeling like a commodity in various relationships: "I want this from you now, but if you fall into it here, it's an unforgiveable sin - God forbid you should be yourself when I don't want you to be"; "Hi, you're the one person who won't get upset, do you mind if I move *you*" (that has to be a pattern for me to get upset); or even those who think, "Irim can wait. She'll be there."

You'd be surprised. I'll bend over backwards for good reasons. But when it becomes a habit, that's something entirely different.

It has always been my feeling that one can unilaterally make a decision that involves something; that is just you and... a book. Or a cooking pot. Whatever.

But the moment that someone else is involved, you lose that right to make the decision on your own.

Of course, if you can't make something, you can't make it. Fine. But have the grace to be the one who takes the initiative to sort something out, so it's clear that you value the friendship, that spending time with this person matters to you. In fact, if they're the one who always sorts it - initiate every so often anyway, so they KNOW you want to be spending time with them and not dental flossing cats instead.

I'm gobsmacked at the number of people who think they can make unilateral decisions that have an impact on other people's lives, schedules, emotions. To quote a good friend, "Dude, WTF?" How dare anyone make a decision that involves another adult (obviously, children are another matter), especially a friend, present it as a fait accompli - and then expect it to be OK? What kind of chutzpah is it that they then get offended because the other person doesn't react in a way that suits them? It's a weird kind of lack of awareness - almost like the person is an object, without feelings, without a life, without their own ideas about the situation.

Now, that's not saying things can't change - they do and they should. But when you're making a decision that involves someone else - TALK TO THEM. Say, "Hey, this is what's going on with me, and I think it might involve you. This is what I've been thinking - what are your thoughts on this?" THAT shows respect, care and awareness of the other person as an individual, as someone you value.

A unilateral decision shows a lack of awareness at best, but more often, it shows a lack of care. (Obviously, there are times when it is appropriate - abuse, breakups, and so on. But hopefully in many of those cases (except abuse - RUN), one has tried to communicate, has tried those bilateral avenues.)

Clearly, a unilateral decision can only be accepted by the person to whom it is presented. But even the most accommodating person files it away with a sense of having not been considered as part of the decision.

Eventually, even the most flexible of boundaries can snap back like a rubber band. That can sting. But unlike rubber bands, they may never flex again for a particular person. Someone who had been a good friend for 13 years wrote a letter that was so awful that to this day, I will only refer to her by a pragmatic relationship - never as a friend. And I will never initiate contact with her again.

I don't believe in giving someone the other cheek to slap. It's just plain stupid to let yourself be abused again.

So yeah, I'm done accommodating. Except in appropriate circumstances and except with people who accommodate me and let me be who I am, warts and all.

The black and white riders...

"But his [Will's] attention was on the two tall riding figures starkly outlined ahead against the soft green of the park. In a few moments, the White Rider, as he felt he must call him, dropped aside and quietly trotted away. The coach went on, following the black upright form of the other.

"Bran said, 'Why should some of the Riders of the Dark be dressed all in white and the rest all in black?'

"'Without colour...' Will said reflectively. 'I don't know. Maybe because the Dark can only reach people at extremes - blinded by their own shining ideas, or locked up in the darkness of their own heads.'

--Susan Cooper, Silver on the Tree (p. 652 of the Dark is Rising Sequence, London: Bodley Head, 2007)

That is one of my favourite quotes of all time, and I've been meaning to blog it for a while, but today's discussion in the Social Club really pushed me to do it.

Nick came in and dropped down in the seat across from me. After mutual complaining about the rain, he nipped up to the bar to get a G&T and sat back down.

Then, the real conversation began.

One of the things I treasure about our friendship is that Nick and I really *listen* to each other. It may seem that we should spend the entire time using the phrases *traddy twit* and *liberal bitch*, but actually, our core principles/values are very similar, though how we express them politically can be vastly different. Passionate and headstrong in our convictions we may be, and hands will fly and voices rise (we both have cultural backgrounds that lead us to gesture a lot), but there will also be a pause as heads are tilted and ears opened. It's never just black and white.

Today's subject, twixt the odd funny story and teasing retort, was abortion, which moved into Bush's and Obama's conscience legislation. Not a subject I could usually discuss at the Oratory. But I knew I was safe with both Nick and Adrian (the raconteur), and so I was honest. And that meant a lot of emotion.

It doesn't get much more polar and emotional than abortion; and good friendships can be at risk over it. It hits on huge issues that can make it hard to listen to someone on the other side: "When does life begin?" "What are the rights of someone over their own body?" "Does a man have a say in whether or not he becomes a father?" "If a woman is raped or a girl is sexually abused, can you force her to carry the child of the aggressor for nine months?" and so many more.

The Black and White Riders run rampant across this road, with each side believing that it holds the shining ideals of life or of freedom, neither one willing to look to the other and acknowledge the complexity of their reasoning, the struggle that may have led them to their stance, the validity of some of their points. When Barack Obama said, "Every abortion is a tragedy," almost every pro-choicer I know jumped down his throat, despite his 100% NARAL rating. They felt 'betrayed', or 'Well *I* don't think it's a tragedy.' Fine. That's your position, but it is fascism to demand that it must be mine.

Allow Barack and the rest of us our more nuanced positions. Just because we find this side of the fence difficult sometimes, just because the necessity for abortion makes us sad, doesn't mean we are betraying the cause. We are one of the many shades of colour that make up the pro-choice side.

If I allow the pro-choice side many shades of colour, then I must assume that the pro-life side, made up of the same variety of human beings, has the same. That as angry as members of that side can make me, they are worth listening to.

The problem with both sides is that we make assumptions about the other; as a pro-choicer, I'm certainly guilty of that. When I hear someone is pro-life, I think "SPUC wacko" or "clinic bomber". I don't think "Nick, my friend, who always thinks things through and has good reasons for what he believes."

He probably stereotypes pro-choicers as liberal wackos who see abortion as just another medical procedure. He doesn't think, "Irim, my friend, who thinks things through and has good reasons for what she believes."

Today, I heard the words "love and support them" from him, and he heard me say, "I KNOW. I find it hard, but..." There were times when I could hear the unspoken "I hear you; I understand, but I can't agree," and times when I'm sure Nick and Adrian could hear the same. I've always wanted to be a mother, I've always been deeply aware of the immense potential of each life the moment sperm meets egg, but I simply *cannot* demand that a woman who has been raped or sexually abused carry a child to term. I cannot demand that a woman who finds out that her pregnancy endangers her life carry that child to term and risk leaving him/her and possibly other children motherless. I know that women will die if abortion is made illegal.

That means that no matter how hard it can become whenever I hear of a woman using abortion as birth control for the umpteenth time, I will stand for every woman's right to have an abortion. Because I *know* that it cannot be an easy decision. My position will always be far closer to the more nuanced Jewish position than to the absolute Catholic one.

People are not absolutes, and the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. When we believe the latter, the Riders drag us between them, leaving no room for humanity.

But as absolute as the topic of abortion may be; as heartfelt our disagreement, the Black and White Riders had no place in this discussion.

We found ourselves in the middle, passionate, on opposite sides of the fence - but leaning across it to listen. And that's as it should be.

Our conversation ended with Nick saying that the extremists on the left wing terrified him more than anything on the right wing. I said the opposite - that the right wing extreme frightened me more than the left. And I think we both have enough sense to be afraid of the extremists in our own wings.

We both fear the Black and White Riders, knowing that those blinded by shining ideas are locked in the darkness of their own heads. We know that in that direction lies the loss of the balance, compassion and love of neighbour we both hold as core values.

Maybe that's why our discussions are always in Technicolour.

May it ever be so.

Snogging Satan, Facebook style

I get no respect from my Southern Hemisphere male friends. None. Whether they're from Australia, New Zealand, Zim or South Africa, every last one of them has the nerve to give me some form of backchat. Even Saffapriest (formerly Saffadeacon), usually the most mild-mannered and even-keeled of men.

The *cheek* of it.

And I wouldn't have them any other way.

One example of this was my Saturday am facebook status and my Aussie friend Jack's [NOT ex-housemate Jack] response, which made yet another of my statuses blogworthy:

Irim wonders what her dream about snogging Satan means. 12:06

VN at 12:11 on 21 February
It means opposites attract, my angel. ;-)

VN at 12:11 on 21 February
*cheeky* LOL

Irim at 12:18 on 21 February

Right, folks, so here's the whole deal:

I dreamt that I was in the guest room in the house I grew up in (it doubled as a study room for me; for some reason my parents thought it was a good idea) and Satan walked in.

I was myself now, and the house was empty - no parents, no brother, and I turned around to see Satan enter the room. I was unafraid and asked him what he wanted. I'm really cross that I can't remember his response, but I do remember that it was a completely civil conversation. It was very normal.

Then he turned to go, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by his loneliness and exile, and just ached for him and for all he had lost. Suddenly, his eternal fall, his punishment, seemed so terribly, terribly unfair and wrong.

"Wait," I said, and he turned. And I leaned in to kiss him. I think he was a bit surprised.

Irim at 12:19 on 21 February
Oh V, I should have known you'd get in there before I could finish the narration! *Grin* Well, the whole dream is over to you now. xx

Jack B at 18:55 on 21 February
Bad Boy Syndrome, Catholic style...

Irim at 20:02 on 21 February
LOL! Jack, you know me wayyyyyy too well. And you're probably even more right than you realised, considering the rest of the dream had him chaining me to a wall in a place that could easily have been any one of a gazillion Catholic churches/religious buildings - to talk, of course, I hasten to add... xx

Jack at 19:40 on 23 February
Yep...uh huh....he ("You can call me 'Meph'..." ) isn't really bad, mom, he just needs lerve....and he just needs to chain you to the wall for your own safety....hold still, this won't hurt a bit.....

You know, that dream SO explains my last emotionally unavailable addict...

Letter to a friend

Hey,

It's just me.

I wanted to let you know that I was thinking of you Sunday as I wandered along South Bank next to the London Eye, looking out at the the most beautiful part of London's skyline in the glorious winter light. My heart should have been full to bursting with joy at the sight of the first city I ever really fell in love with. Instead, I gazed out with nearly unseeing eyes, pretending it was the breeze off the river making my eyes water. My heart was heavy and I was desperately trying to put on a happy face before meeting Ali and David.

But all I could do was reflect on our friendship, from the moment (or half an hour) of mutual understanding when we first met, through long emails, long evenings and lots of laughter. I remember being able to talk to you about anything and everything; you being able to laugh at yourself; hours spent laughing till we cried; being able to say, "Hey, I need to talk," and having you be right there.

Inch by inch, over the years, I've watched that - and you - slip away. I've heard the lies become more elaborate and more frequent (and yes, I know) ; I've taken the brunt of inexplicable snaps of anger that you forget about, but I don't; I've watched you lose interest in things you used to be passionate about; I've watched you stop laughing - both at yourself and at life.

Before I say to you what I need to say, let me apologise. I need to apologise for not having the integrity to do this face-to-face and deal with the consequences, though I've touched on it in the all-too-brief windows where you've brought it up. I apologise for every time I've put my hand on a wine bottle to pour for you. For every time I didn't say, "You don't look well." For every time I didn't challenge you. No, no one else is, true, but challenge is what I DO, and for me not to have done it in our friendship is unforgivable. Now it is a matter of life and death, I think, and you deserved far better from me.

If it is at all possible, hear this and know that I do not hate you, though I know that's what it will feel like. Know that I see in you immense potential and many gifts, and that above all, you are incredibly lovable and loved by more people than you know, even at your darkest. Maybe if you could feel that, if you could know that you are loved when you are angry, depressed, hurt, vulnerable, you wouldn't be here. I know no other way of letting you know that but through words and by being here.

I'm afraid it's not enough.

And now, here is what I have to say, what I should have said to you face-to-face, but this is the only way I know to really speak to you anymore:

You are an addict and despite the fact that you appear to be functioning normally, you are in deep trouble.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.

How do I know, you ask defensively? Your paleness, the sweating, the fact that you're not eating properly - and yes, I know you lied. But what scared me most was that when I went to hug you, your stomach didn't give. That means we're not talking fat; I suspect we're talking ascites, which means that you're in some stage of cirrhosis, and I'm guessing later rather than earlier. I'm guessing you're not eating because you *can't* - it makes you feel ill, because you can no longer process your food properly. To put it simply and starkly:

Cirrhosis is a serious condition. Only 30 per cent of patients with this problem will survive five years after diagnosis and the outlook is worse if the cause is alcohol and the patient continues to drink.

That means you need to face this. Not after Christmas, not tomorrow. NOW.

Know that this doesn't mean I'm going to say it and walk away. If you want help, I'll be here to help move mountains to make sure you get it.

Yes, I know you may think it sounds judgmental or pompous or hateful. You may well think I've betrayed you. I think I'm ready for that, though I'd really rather not be.

But before you snap at me about how it's your life and doesn't affect anyone else's, let me tell you only a few ways in which you're wrong.

The tightness of your friends' voices when we talk about you, the masks we wear, the worry beneath them - even the smartass comments of some - would speak volumes, as would those words we don't say. Your name gets mentioned and whatever ease was in the room flows out faster than sh** downhill. Masks get put on; words are guarded. When you come up, we can't even talk to each other.

I heard echoes of us in the voice of a woman who was looking for help for her husband, a cocaine addict. He had used coke almost every day, gone into rehab, and was now slipping about once every eight weeks or so. I gently suggested AA or NA, but she said that he felt he was beyond that and that he didn't want to be with people in the full grip of addiction and be reminded of how he had been at his lowest. I heard our voices in her attempt to deny that he was still addicted; her weariness; her desperation.

It was a bit too close to home for comfort.

What about me? Let me lay it on the line: you are one of my inner circle friends. That means that to me, you are one of the people who really knows me: one of the people who can handle me when I'm angry, depressed, stressed out, sad, unable to be the supportive friend to everyone and everything. I'll never forget times like the one where you said to me, "That's the second time tonight you've been really down on yourself. What's going on? You ok?" You were always one of the people who could take care of me, not just be taken care of by me. Those moments were always worth so much more than they might have seemed to you, because I knew I was absolutely safe. No more. Now I'm always on eggshells, trying to avoid the next moment of unpredictable lashing out, grateful for the eggshell walking practice I had growing up.

What you've done for me in those moments and beyond is incalculable. It has opened so many possibilities and made me a far better person. Thank you, more than you will ever know. Even if, God forbid, we were never to speak again, there is a place in the inner circle that will ever be yours. If you can't *feel* that because of what else I'm saying, *know* it.

Dealing with your addiction has made it harder for me to let people into my inner circle. It always was, true, but I had reached a balance. I knew I was less trusting than most, that I threw up a lot of tests, but I'd learned to recognise that and accomodate it. When you, someone already on the inner circle, became unpredictable and hurtful, difficult to trust, that created an imbalance. I'm getting balance back, but it hasn't been easy. I expect angry friends to act like you; I can't quite trust friends who want to catch me when I need support, because I expect them to use it against me. Yes, it's feeding on something already there and it's my responsibility to sort it, but it doesn't mean that the effect of others is negligible.

Then, there is the fear.

The fear that one day, I will answer my phone to the news that will shatter my world the way a rifle shot shatters the air around it, never to be the same again.

I'm not afraid every day or every minute. Every so often, I wonder. When your STD code shows up on my phone, I freeze, briefly, afraid it's one of your friends or colleagues going through your phone, making the phone call none of us ever want to have to make.

Those are only a few of the ways in which your addiction affects some of those who care about you. I can't speak for anyone else, I can only speak for myself. And it boils down to this:

I miss you so much, it feels like I'm grieving already. Like I've grieved over and over again.

What do I want from you, I can hear you asking. Above all else, I want you to be happy. I don't know what that means for you or where it will take you, but I do know that it means that you have to be whole, that you can't be hiding from yourself and trying to amputate parts of yourself that you don't think you should have. I know it means you have to face the demons you've been numbing with drink, and all I have to offer is that the shadows are often much bigger than the demons themselves, of whom it could be said:

Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous.

You've seen them as evil, imprisoned them, tried to kill them...let them in, face them, and I think you'll find that they are born of pain and grief that you've never let yourself feel. Those feelings are nothing to fear. Trust me, you'll find more gifts and more wholeness in them than you could imagine. Let yourself become whole.

I'm not promising you that it will be easy or that it will feel good. There will be times it will hurt like hell, times you'd rather be dead or with a bottle in your hand. Finding yourself is hard enough if you've been committed to it your whole life; it's a hundred times harder if you've been running.

But I can promise you friends who love you, who will cheer for you, who will stretch out their hands to you. We can't walk the darkness for you, but we can walk WITH you and be there for you. I promise you, if you put ONE fingertip within reach on the edge of that abyss, someone will have your hand. Please, give us a chance. Please.

Because watching you die is killing me.

Love,
Irim

Sometimes I wish I could cry in public

I can cry in the dark at movies. I can cry in an empty church - the Oxford Oratory's Lady Chapel has seen its fair share of my tears, as has the Oxford night when I've been walking home.

Today, though, I nearly cried in Nando's in the middle of dinner.

My Namibian/Saffa friend and I met up for a proper catchup for the first time in AGES. I met her by our couch when she emerged from my ex-housemate's room after a long weekend. The moment our eyes met, we knew we'd be friends for life. I'm in touch with her far more than I am with him.

We talked about all that had happened since our last meeting - we laughed, gasped in disbelief, vented. We had moved on to the stuff that separates acquaintances from friends when she said something that made me fight for composure:

"You know, Saturday night, [ex-housemate] had left and I was all alone and I couldn't sleep. I was really missing him, feeling completely alone and couldn't stop crying."

"You should have rung me!"

"No, wait. I picked up my phone and looked at it, thinking, 'Who can I call? Who cares about me? Who can I talk to?' Then I suddenly thought, 'I can call Irim.' Yours was the first name that came into my head. And my heart felt so happy knowing I could call you that I didn't have to, and I just went straight to sleep."

I was so completely choked up, trying not to cry in public, I'm not sure I gave a coherent answer. I don't think I told her that I had actually been *awake* at 3am Saturday night, restless and unsettled.

Later in the conversation, she said, very naturally, "You're my sister."

As you are mine, heartsis.

A whispered prayer to All That Is from this panentheist:

Thank you for all my blessings - for those that are obvious and those that seem like obstacles, for love, friendship, and everything that comes my way. For making me incarnate so I can love Your creation through gazing on it, holding it tenderly, listening to it closely, tasting it, inhaling deeply.

But today, thank you for reassuring me that despite my crap mass attendance and poor attention to all things religiously orthodox, I must be living at least a sliver of a life that You would approve of. If just one person feels that they can ring me from a dark place at the dark time of 3am, I must be doing something right.

Not much. But something.

In laughter we trust...

I know I said I'd post thoughts on the US presidential race here, but I've spent a lot of my political energy and creativity commenting at the wonderful Shakesville site. I will get round to it before election day, I promise.

And now for something completely different...

Last Thursday, I went out with a good friend of mine and was aghast to discover he had been just like some of the Oxford pole-up-your-backside males (the Catholic version attends the Oratory; the Anglican version attends Pusey House) - striped jacket, straw boater and all.

To top it all off, he's the oldest child and was a school prefect. You can picture it, can't you?

He's so relaxed and wickedly funny now, it's hard to believe. When he told me, my jaw hit the pub table, nearly landing in my sausages and mash.

"NO. YOU. ARE. JOKING."

He laughed at my reaction. "No, the hat, the jacket and everything. God."

"OH. MY. GOD. YOU. WERE. SUCH. A. PRICK," I said.

Now his shoulders were shaking with laughter. "Ja," he replied. "Ja, I really was."

This led to a conversation that made me pause, tilt my head, and ask a tough question - the answer to which was risky, because it could have meant censure.

A question which a number of other friends would have fudged, pled the Fifth, or maybe even lied. I can't tell you how I would have answered it.

He told me the truth.

There are moments when I sit back and am just amazed at how wonderful my friends are and how blessed I am to have them - e.g., Ruth's warmth, openness and huge personality last night (but that's another blog post) - and Thursday night was one of those. I was moved by his integrity, ability to laugh at himself and his care for others.

Pat yourself on the back, doll - you're no longer that straw boater, pinstripe wearing twit of a teenager - you've grown into a man your parents should be proud of.

Like every last one of my friends, you absolutely rock.

On joy

In my last entry, I tell a friend he has much passion but little joy, and ask what is tearing at his soul.

But what IS joy? I believe it to be far deeper than happiness or pleasure: it is the stillness of the deep ocean whilst the surface tosses and turns during a storm; joy is an undercurrent to the changing emotions of our lives. You can love life beneath anger or the intense pain of loss.

It shows in all sorts of ways: taking pleasure in ordinary things, such as a Krispy Kreme doughnut or the feel of cotton against your skin; anticipating new experiences; living every moment fully; finding a gift in a less-than-optimal situation.

It was the latter - and perhaps a touch of the first - that brought that undercurrent to the surface for me today. Rachel and I went to the cricket, meeting Mazz & Mark and their friends Greg & Mel. The start was delayed by rain, we had an hour of promising cricket, then rain fell again as lunch approached.

Rach and I went off to grab some burgers, and as we were heading back to our seats, we passed Mazz and crew on their way out to a pub to catch the rugby whilst the cricket was rained off. We went back to our seats and munched on our burgers under my big white brolly (mentioned on TMS), then sat back to wait for the rain to end.

It was futile - play was called off three hours later.

But Rach and I didn't stop laughing. Whether we were listening to TMS or the "Shane Warne song" (I do not lie), chatting with the stewards (who wondered why we were so amused), answering, 'So what is X like as a shag?', or checking out the SA players on their balcony with betfair binoculars, we didn't stop giggling.

That turned to outright guffawing as we played 'Marry/shag/push off a cliff (lethal or non-lethal)' with sets of cricketers. For those of you that don't know the game, you're presented with a trio of men/women and asked whom you would marry, have great, uncommitted sex with (read: like a man) or push off a cliff. You are not allowed to duck the question and say, "Shag all three of them, of course!"

For example: David Tennant, Daniel Craig, Jonathan Frakes.

I would: Marry David Tennant, shag Daniel Craig, push Jonathan Frakes off a cliff (sorry, Riker - nah, not really).

Sad it may be, but we got hours of amusement out of it. The best answer came with this trio:
Ian Bell, Paul Collingwood, Geraint Jones.

No-brainer for both of us: Marry Colly and push Geraint off a cliff (lethal. Sorry, dude, you've dropped way too many catches to be spared).

Which left one choice for Ian Bell. We looked at eachother under the white brolly, hesitant to commit ourselves. Then Rach had a stroke of genius:

"And have a headache when the time comes to shag Ian." We roared with laughter...

...and sheer, unadulterated joy in eachother's company. At one point, I looked over at her as she whizzed through songs on her ipod, thinking how blessed I was to count her as a friend for her genuine kindness beneath her cynicism, her humour, her support, her wackiness. She absolutely rocks, and is more like a sister than a friend.

At that moment, sitting at the soggy Oval with rain pounding on the white brolly, fully present in the moment, I finally understood where joy was to be found. Not in earthquake, wind or fire -

but in the still, small voice of our everyday lives - even when your ass is wet.

Stealth sexy...

I felt great about my birthday outfit till I saw pictures of myself sitting down in it. The words 'beached' and 'whale' came to mind, as well as "OHMYGOD, TIME FOR SLIMFAST AND THE GYM!!"

Working on the second, not desperate enough for the first yet - as I've said here before, I love my cleavage, and with Slimfast, it tends to go first. No go. I own way too many tops designed to show it off.

Jack and I were online chatting today, and as ever, he left me feeling happy and protected (despite being my junior by a good number of years). All IM typos are left in:

Jack says (19:21):
once im free again it would be nice to go out with some of you friends from your bday again
Irim says (19:21):
that would be lovely
Jack says (19:22):
cooolo
Irim says (19:22):
once I've lost at least a stone and look decent in photos
Irim says (19:22):
:D
Jack says (19:25):
dude, u looked fucking hot on your bday!
Irim says (19:26):
Awww, you're so sweet!
Jack says (19:26):
serious
Jack says (19:26):
u must have lost a load of weight
Jack says (19:26):
i wasnt just being charming!
Jack says (19:26):
:)
Irim says (19:26):
Actually, I usually wear clothes way too big
Jack says (19:26):
aha
Irim says (19:26):
I was wearing clothes that fit
Jack says (19:27):
one of the "gist is better then the wrappings" eh
Jack says (19:27):
nice
Jack says (19:27):
stealth sexy
Jack says (19:27):
:)
Irim says (19:27):
anything that hangs from my tits means I have a [] inch waist,
Jack says (19:27):
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH
Irim says (19:27):
I love that phrase
Jack says (19:27):
thats fucking funny
Irim says (19:27):
I just think if a guy doesn't look past the surface, it's not worth it
Jack says (19:27):
agreeed
Irim says (19:27):
'stealth sexy'
Irim says (19:28):
might have to blog it.
Jack says (19:28):
do it
Jack says (19:28):
i want ot be quoted
Irim says (19:28):
all right, darling. Do you want to be named?
Jack says (19:28):
fuk yeh

And so, my dear, consider yourself named.

"Stealth sexy". Just like that, he took my wearing big clothes - anchored in the sexual abuse, my mother's complete weirdness about my body in all sorts of ways, and my resulting ambivalence about my body - and turned it into gift wrapping.

Lo, verily, I was healed.

Golden compass

Before I start, let me say that I far prefer the original title Northern Lights, and don't approve of the dumbing down of the title for Americans. They need to learn.

But this isn't about Philip Pullman's marvelous trilogy, Dark Materials.

It's about the people in your life who are golden compasses.

I've thought about this on and off for a long time, but last Saturday's ordination put me in a reflective mood, and I finally pulled it all together.

Saturday's ordinand to the diaconate is someone who has been a member of the community in my church since October 2003. I'd seen him around for about 18 months before that. I found him unsettling - in part because of his build and his economical movement, which reminded me of a fighter, but mostly because he 'felt' like a coiled spring - everything from voice to movement was measured, controlled, but it felt like a hurricane was being held in; there was an incredible tension, a dissonance between inner and outer that made me wary and uncomfortable.

His rigidity and marriage to rules - Jesu pie, there were days that I wanted to shake him and remind him that flexible trees are the ones that survive strong winds and come upright again. I began to think of him as Br Rule-Keeper. Let's just say that the mental intonation was not complimentary.

But discomfort makes me very watchful - and the more I watched, the more wariness turned to (grudging, at first, I'll freely admit) respect and affection. He was gentle with children, and unlike others I have known, had a healthy adult-child relationship with them: he wasn't trying to be one of them, he was the adult and they were the child, and the kids loved him for it - no chaotic, hyper childishness that's fun for a while, but not something you can lean against or trust. Just quiet solidity and the occasional teasing. His actions matched his words...I didn't like him, but when he promised me he would do something, it was done. No drama, no whingeing, no lies...just action.

In my world, that's worth a hell of a lot.

Oh, we still spar and roll our eyes at eachother. We'll never agree about the Catholic Church, rules, orthodoxy, any of it. I still want to shake the pedant (sorry, m'dear, but you can be) out of him and get him to loosen up a bit and put some emotion into it, especially when catechising the masses. But I'd bet you my last tuppence we agree on the *principles*, even if our expressions of those principles are 180 degrees apart.

But his stability, his demand for things to be thought out, makes him something more precious than that friend who always agrees with you: it makes him a compass. But what does that mean?

I was reading one of Rachel Naomi Remen's stories of a young man who came to counselling after his father died - he was an artist; his father was an insurance agent, accountant or something along those lines. He spoke of their fights, how he struggled against the direction that he felt his father wanted him to take, the security his father insisted he have.

Then he won an exhibit. Afterwards, one of the judges came up to him and said, "How could we not give it to you? Your presentation answered every single one of our objections. Clearly, you had thought everything through."

And the son got it.

His father was a compass. The son didn't have to take his father's direction, but because his father always pointed north, the son could mark his chosen direction from his father. And his father had forced him to be able to defend the direction he chose to take, to ground his dreams in reality.

So it is with Br Rule-keeper. I'm sure, since he sees Catholicism as the One Truth, he would prefer that I keep to a direction far closer to his. But he always points north, so whatever direction I choose to take, if I mark it from him, I will always travel true.

And I've finally realised that, as an iconoclast, I don't really want the whole system to come down at once - I want it to *change*. The edifice may have to be taken down and rebuilt, but it must happen systematically, and not in the form of a collapse. That needs rule-keepers.

He's not alone in my life: I'm blessed with friends who are compasses of all shapes and sizes. From my ex-supervisor-the-kindred-spirit to cynical Rachel to midnight sidhe and Moses, from the somewhat-distractable-but-intuitive-friend to the "How long have you had a thing for unavailable men?" mate and the "And he missed out on getting his boner seen to by u! what a step in the wrong direction! :)" cheekily affectionate male friend, none of them are what you expect a compass to look like.

But they always point true North - and allow me to mark my heart's direction.

Thank you. I love you all more than you will ever know.

Beware of those that look like compasses. My father looked and sounded like a compass, like the paragon of stability, but he was one of the most controlling, emotionally unavailable men I have ever met. A current male friend's bearing and orthodox pronouncements give him the appearance of authority and compasshood, but scratch the surface and you find someone whose emotional unavailability and need for control rivals my father's, except it is more like being in the middle of a tornado than a Siberian winter, not least because he drowns it in alcohol.

Trust me: don't go there. Taking your direction from someone who is running from their own pain, from themselves, will only ensure that two people are lost, not one.

Don't forget to try to be a compass to others - always point true to your heart's direction, to what you really believe, and you will be someone else's true North.

I said I wasn't talking about Philip Pullman. I lied.

After all, what is Pullman's golden compass? An alethiometer, derived from the Greek meaning "truth measuring instrument". Ask the golden compass a question and it will give you a true answer - but you have to be able to interpret the symbols to know what that answer is. It won't always be what you want to hear. But it will always be what you need to hear, and you can mark your direction by it.

So pay attention to your compass, and treasure it. S/he is, after all, one of life's most precious gifts.