Archive | Quoth the Raving

No Condition for Love

From a 1984 interview with author Edna O’Brien:

Interviewer: Some think your preoccupation with romance verges at times on the sentimental. You quote Aragon in answer: “Love is your last chance, there is really nothing else to keep you there.

O’Brien: But my work is concerned with loss as much as with love. Loss is every child’s theme and writers, however mature and wise and eminent, are children at heart. I might, if the gods are good to me, find that my understanding of love has become richer and stronger than my dread of loss.

Interviewer: Is that why, in nearly all your novels, women are longing to establish a simple, loving, harmonious relationship with men, but are unable to do so?

O’Brien: My experience was pretty extreme, so that it is hard for me to imagine harmony, or even affinity, between men and women. I would need to be reborn.

Faith for the Faithless, Mary for All

From David Brooks’ “The Subtle Sensations of Faith”:

Marx thought that religion was the opiate of the masses, but Soloveitchik argues that, on the contrary, this business of living out a faith is complex and arduous: “The pangs of searching and groping, the tortures of spiritual crises and exhausting treks of the soul purify and sanctify man, cleanse his thoughts, and purge them of the husks of superficiality and the dross of vulgarity. Out of these torments there emerges a new understanding of the world, a powerful spiritual enthusiasm that shakes the very foundations of man’s existence.”

Insecure believers sometimes cling to a rigid and simplistic faith. But confident believers are willing to face their dry spells, doubts, and evolution. Faith as practiced by such people is change. It is restless, growing. It’s not right and wrong that changes, but their spiritual state and their daily practice. As the longings grow richer, life does, too. As Wiman notes, “To be truly alive is to feel one’s ultimate existence within one’s daily existence.”

So often, possessing a strong faith and a strongly interrogative nature puts me in the middle of every maelstrom. I will never trust anything blindly; I will never rule out the possibility that something can be trusted. For I know the warmth that has been extended to me from grace in all its faces (including my permakitten’s), and I never cease to be grateful–just as I am always grateful for the power of discernment granted me from that very same source.  Today–and all these precious celebrations of winter solstice, really–is an opportunity to sit in received grace as Mary did. It’s so potent, this sort of active receptivity, and in these festivals of light I can feel everyone channeling this gentle lioness, or at least acknowledging her purr. Marianne Williamson says, “Christmas isn’t one man’s birth 2,000 years ago; it’s anytime we allow the love inside us to be born into the world.”

Today, and every day, I wish for faith for the faithless, curiosity for the unquestioning, joy for the joyless, communion for the unaccompanied, and love for the unlovable–with great intellectual rigor for all, and, of course, even greater grace. Happy holidays, dear Sirenaders.

December Runneth Over

I always forget this time of year is so inhospitable–in its quality and duration of light, in the dread it evokes that is only occasionally contained, in the anxieties masquerading as shared joy. Now that climate change is writ large, we contend with cold rain rather than pretty snow, to boot. Not to mention those tides of change finally, finally rising in Ameriker. Sexton said, “I know that I have died before–once in November.” Amend that to December, please, and pass me an umbrella. Rebirth is very messy.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy