Exodus 20:3-17
(Holy Bible, NRSV)
1. You shall
have no other gods before me
2. You shall
not make idols (“…whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or
that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.” Note:
verses 4-6 are potent and provocative.)
3. You shall
not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord
4. Remember the
Sabbath day, and keep it holy.
5. Honor your
father and your mother
6. You shall
not murder
7. You shall
not commit adultery
8. You shall
not steal
9. You shall
not bear false witness (against your neighbor)
10. You shall
not covet (you neighbor’s house…wife, male or female slaves, ox, donkey or
anything that belongs to your neighbor)
There’s so much bad behavior not mentioned in
the Ten Commandments...
It is a little strange to find
myself sitting before an open Bible at 7 a.m. But I have a new address. A new
home. New rooms. New views from new windows. I’m in a new space, doing new
things and everything is a little strange. Not unpleasant or frightening.
Just…..new.
The events precipitating my
relocation were also strange. Sudden and unexpected and unexplained. There is
some chance that I will eventually file a detailed written account of the whole
“episode”; but the task is not a high priority. I posted an S.O.S. on FaceBook
early (during the first — and only -- moment
of panic I have felt since my mother died in 2012). That post generated many Comments and I engaged
with them briefly and sporadically; but the moving process required vigorous
mental, intellectual, physical and spiritual attention. There was little energy
leftover for interactions on FaceBook.
It’s been eight days since that
Monday morning when I stood in pajamas making coffee and heard the front door
open. The night before, I’d had the dream about losing teeth again. In the
dream, as usually happens, I am startled to find teeth, unanchored, in my
mouth. New in this edition of the dream:
they are not my teeth. My
teeth are all anchored evenly in my gums, bright white and shiny. I am deeply
amused by the situation. I feel fat and solid and content. I am about to spit the
loose, alien teeth out into my palm to take a closer
An hour later, a few minutes
before noon, a troubled man who has been my housemate for over a year and was a
friend for ten years before that, walked through the house and into the
kitchen, said “Good morning” for the first (and possibly only) time since I returned from Brazil at the end of March, and
handed me a Removal Order from the Justice Court of Marshall County,
Mississippi. “The Court says you have to be out of here by 5 p.m,” he said.
We had the briefest of eye
contact before he turned and walked out of the house. We had had infrequent eye
contact for a long time. His eyes that morning were disturbing; I saw coldness,
death, fear, bondage, hatred and confusion there. I saw sickness and suffering.
Days later, I would remember the
dream and think “Those were Troubled Man’s teeth!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It took less than 72 hours to
travel from receiving the Removal Order to receiving the keys to my beautiful
new home but a lot happened in that time.
Three days of Amazing Grace:
rescue and resources from trusted friends, surprising support from
acquaintances and strangers, fortuitous serendipity and coincidence, profound
experiences of gratitude washing over and within me.
Unpacking and settling into the
new house has gradually revealed “what I lost in the move.” I had students
scheduled the day of the Removal Order so five hours was in actuality less than
three. I loaded what I could into my car and relocated Piano Studio to the
Episcopal church for the afternoon. At 5:00 p.m., I started my final lesson for
the day but back on Johnson Park, I imagine Troubled man began feverishly
dumping my belongings on the curb. By the time I arrived over an hour later,
with Angels of Mercy, there was a jumbled
mess on the sidewalks of 216 Johnson Park.
We had no boxes. We worked fast to
cram everything into my VW and the two vehicles of the Angels. By Wednesday, things
had been sorted and boxed and made for transport from the fancy front rooms of
the Angels to my new home.
Thoughts of Troubled Man and
Johnson Park now arise most often when I need something and discover it is no
longer in my possession. It might be a knife – carefully chosen and
preferentially used for three years…and “lost in the move” (LIM). Or the
matching chopstick to the surviving singleton of a cherished pair. Or the
beautiful wooden linen shelf from the bathroom. Or the handy undulating floor
fan. Or a set of plastic nesting containers for leftovers. Or measuring cups,
brandy snifters, champagne glasses, cherry-red barbecue grill… Can goods and spices and cooking oil. All LIM.
Each instance produces a tiny
psychic stab and, for a couple of days, elicited an automatic “Fuck you,
C______.” The utterance happens less and less often as a) feelings of annoyance
are overwhelmed by feelings of gratitude and contentment; and b) remembrance
and reflection on the final days of our relationship reveal the sad underlying
dis-ease compelling his actions. It is
within these reflections that the issue of “lies and promises” occurs.
I would rather receive scathing
criticism or outright argument than be ignored. I would rather hear hard truth
than a lie. I prefer being flatly denied a request to being belatedly betrayed.
Troubled Man preferred non-communication and betrayal. In retrospect, (see "Both Sides Now" post here at SITC) signs of the likelihood of the failure of our friendship were in evidence from
the beginning. Recurrent pangs of “Ah! I should have known. I should have
listened to my gut…” have been features of this transition.
An essential and enduring mystery
at the center of this story is “Why did he kick me out?” Additional questions include:
· Why is he angry?· Why did he stop talking to me?· Why did he deposit his mother on the front porch to watch the eviction?…all of which can be distilled to “What happened?”
And then I remember his eyes. And
the answer is right there: Something
broke.
It is frightening to think about
it too often or for too long. I imagine the psychic and physical condition
associated with eyes that gleam with such hostile confusion.
I shudder…and willfully turn my
attention away from such imaginings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Through silence, cowardice and
passivity, the Troubled Man avoided outright lying. The Ten Commandments
include no specific prohibition against the default lying that results from
omission or silence, for example. Or lies of denial or deception. The Removal
Order permitted him to passively withdraw his hospitality (“The Court [‘not
me’] says you have to be out of here by 5 p.m.”).
Back in August 2012, the first or
second night I was in Holly Springs, before Troubled Man flew back to his
pastoral duties on the East Coast, he said “As long as you live in Holly
Springs, you will always have a home on Johnson Park.” It sounded like a
promise. My gut clenched. These almost-three years later, I can admit that that
clenching sensation was the physical expression of instinctual distrust; I did
not believe his words.
It was embarrassing. I did not
say “I don’t believe you.” (In my memory, only once have I ever told someone to
their face “I don’t believe you.” Contemporary social culture seems to
generally regard it as rude to say such a thing outright. In my lexicon it is
akin to throwing a drink in someone’s face….which I also remember doing only
once in my life. I confess experiencing supreme satisfaction after each faux
pas.) I remember he also shed tears during this conversation. The whole thing
was rare and embarrassing and memorable.
I shudder now…and willfully turn
my attention away from such memories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am happier now than I have been
since my first days in Holly Springs. The undergirding of this joy is different
from those first happy days fueled by anticipation and curiosity. This joy is
sparked by the blatant and relentless generosity and goodwill I have received
from members of a community I thought despised me. I feel at last the dawning
embrace of acceptance. A hundred times a day, I stop in my tracks and gaze
around me and say aloud “I love my home!” All anxiousness to “get out of Holly
Springs” has disappeared.
I want to take on more piano
students. I want to make this house a home. I want to attend a City Council
meeting and research the history of this house, the other “named” houses on the
street and the town in general and share the stories with tourists (I’ve done a
bit of this already after living here for only five days!) I want to maintain a
relationship with the young men who stole my purse Saturday (that story for
another post). I can imagine a future of unspecified duration here in Holly
Springs.
My gut is not clenched. A thrum
of “possibility” winds through me.
Mornings glow. The breeze at dawn has a secret again….”Don’t go back to sleep.”
[Note: This posting was interrupted by a knock at
the door. It was those boys who stole my purse last weekend, plus a friend! They came to visit
and talk about what they could do to make amends. The Future and Possibility
came to my door this morning. Amazing Grace!!! Who would have imagined I would
end up in MS playing Debussy on piano
for adolescents I met for the first time at the police station?]
