Everything is still, and presumably will evermore be, completely suspended. Even in the midst of "crisis," there's still some sense of everything being in the midst of transition, anymore.
Sensing, perceiving in an ineffable way, that everything going on is held completely aloft by an unseen force which is holding back various objects and circumstances and individuals from coming to blows with one another, again and again, without much provocation except as merely per course of what would occur unrestrainedly.
Sensing God's presence in the midst, according to another way of putting it. Whereas, before knowing Christ personally (a statement which feels as thought it always needs to be elaborately qualified according to lengthy disclaimer), everything seemed to continually operate according to varying elements of chaos. My other, previously dominant G+ profile still bears the testimony whereby I considered myself someone who "direct[ed] the flow of chaos."
Everything seemed to be completely unhinged, in ways. Life in New Orleans brought that observation to ever-sharper relief, in contrast with prior assumptions that everything in nature operates entirely according to stringent laws which are inerrantly efficient and orderly in their processes. Not so, there. Nor even prior, according to the way of the few years' time spent living in Pinellas County, Florida.
In Florida, though, there was still some semblance of order (granted, in the midst of circumstances which in retrospect were completely chaotic). Go to work (between 65 and 80 hours a week), come home (receive abuse in whatever form manifested), communicate online. Repeat. Escape.
And on.
Generally, the entire process of day-to-day life was completely taken for granted as inalterable and unwavering. One day into the next. No changes. Even in the midst of the abuse, it was still just a "normal" thing. There was no surprise there. There was no sense of potential for change. It just was.
And it was accepted as routine.
Until a point was reached wherein a precipice had been reached, beyond which the abuse could no longer be tolerated. Death became preferable to continued mental, emotional, physical torment. Rather to be ended than to continue in such abject misery.
I ran away. Prepared for one of the two jobs, having snuck a few things into the trunk of the car over the brief time prior. A college-edition Merriam's Webster dictionary, a copy of Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet, and Anne Rice's Memnoch the Devil. No food, no water. Just over $100 cash, from cashing the paycheck received on-site as going in to work, cashing the check, then telling them I had to leave town. No cell phone. Just a decision to leave without telling anyone, desperate to escape, not knowing what to do...not having any idea of anything as an alternate course--nothing even occurred to me, and I'd really not thought about it before now, in the years since that June, 2003..
..maybe there were other courses.
Either way, I went to New Orleans. Arrived after 10pm, on June 9, 2003. And went to the river. Walked to the river. Running through options, as to what to do. Sell the car, start over. Sell the car, buy enough of anything which would dull senses enough as to jump.
But, walking there...having come to a point of deciding on that latter course, then enduring the dullness and the weight of horror settled on...staring mindlessly into space, just breathing in the ominous lethargy encroaching evermore.. ..as trite as it sounds.. ..I started to hear a song. As trite as it seems, in retrospect, in the telling.. ..Journey's Don't Stop Believin' was playing somewhere, the chorus, and it caught me unawares for a moment. Just listening, in the midst of horrified revelation of my own darker designs.. ..drawn out of them, for just a moment, by that song.
Then, to reject it, to shake my head and shake off the implications of the idea of hope. And the song faded, and a desperation arose anew, within. Just to hear the song again, straining against the sound of the water, the obliqueness of the despondency within, and the unknown breadth between the source of the song and my location.. ..to hear it again..
..and I did. Somehow. Despite that it had faded entirely, a moment prior. I heard it, again, and listened--giving my all to just listen, just to experience that distant hope, vicarious of such a nebulous strain of melody as momentarily transfixed, entirely.
Losing myself, utterly, in that moment. The horror lost its hold.
And coming free, to walk. By the aquarium, descending. Then to be stopped short in my tracks, transfixed again...as the crowd evaporated.. ..looking up to see the very form of death, sought to meet--the very reason for having come..
...immobilized, except to stand in wonder and realization. Seeing death pass right before me, in those moments. And yet immobilized from approaching any further. Immobilized perhaps only by the lingering echo of a distant hope, so unfamiliar yet so utterly yearned for.
I went back, then. I called. And called others at one of the jobs--the job which hadn't been notified out my emergency exit.
And slept. Such a sound, yet broken sleep--full of the vision and conversation with a death so beloved, as sought across so many miles. Yet, blessedly restricted from consummation therewith as would dislodge return unto eventual salvation. The torment, though, which lingers vaguely still on that point is there remains an unmistakable lingering regard for the other which is beyond the pale as acceptable. Much prayer persists on that account, in so many ways.
Prayer, and prayer alone. The Lord is faithful to deliver. He has and will, evermore.
Just... ...through all those many hours, through all those many moments of shocked horror even unto coldest depths of resigned despondency...
...there was still a sense of everything being entirely contained and entirely ordered. There was a sense of relentless continuity, a sense of everything being firmly fixed in place according to conceivable order.
Despite that, looking back, I see that there were so many things taken for granted as inalterable which just...weren't. Merely, my own stance was just so unyielding as to prevent even preliminary consideration of alternate courses. Whatsoever was decided upon would be accomplished, regardless of what actions (even unto self-sacrifices) were required in order to proceed.
So many assumptions. Assuming, always, that no matter what, no matter what happened, everything could thus would succumb to will and determination.
Period.
Which, in terms of those darker thoughts...that was a relatively contorted bit of mental gymnastics, having ever devolved to that point: Simultaneously a matter of maintaining the illusion of control and of having reached a point of complete despondency.
Just, there was still a sense of immediacy. A sense of inalterability. Of being in a fixed point, and being restricted to a limited number of responses in tandem with the stance maintained.
New Orleans changed that, somewhat.
A particular of my best friends and I used to discuss it, fairly regularly--everything seemed to operate according to different principles, in New Orleans.
I wish there were something substantial to given in explanation, but she was always the more detail-minded of us two, on that account. Mostly, it was just a matter of somehow always finding oneself with one's head above water, despite ever drowning--simultaneously being completely overwhelmed by everything going on, yet always constantly experiencing moments of abject, unexpected, inexplicable wonder which somehow would make it all wholly seem worthwhile...as beautiful. In suffering, even...just prismatic--shades of experience ultimately constituting the inexplicable wonder of existence.
Like watching an elderly man stop feebly in the middle of an intersection, specifically to pop a passing bubble with his cane...even as pausing momentarily longer to watch others drift, iridescent, by on the wind...before continuing the halting, somewhat pained pace alone the way.
Observing that precisely, along an evening of solitude spent at a sidewalk table in the French Quarter, has seemed still to best epitomize life in New Orleans.
Drifting, iridescent beauty ever inexplicably, seemingly randomly interspersed along the overall struggle. Throughout.
So, even as every day was much a matter of going and doing the seemingly same things over and over again, along a somewhat fixed course, there was always an element of the unexpected--never knowing what might happen. To the good or bad, really. Just knowing that, at any moment, something completely and wholly unforeseeable might occur.
As those such things were only consistent in fact of their random interjection along the while.
But there was such a darkness to the way everything coalesced, on the whole. I see it now so very clearly, even looking into current matters. There's a persistent decay inherent of all. ...and there's a word for it, yet it's evading me entirely right now. The overall, continual process of decomposition into other states.
...either way, there's that.
It's inherent of the all.
So, in that sense, even as there was a seeming element of "chaos" which interspersed itself amongst the all...still, the ultimate course was entirely fixed, regardless. As ever from a single point of progress, wheresoever one's stance remained or drifted unto--from that point, alone. Along natural courses which were yet inherently degrading, even if as only a matter of the nature of temporal decomposition according to "laws of natural decline." There was a sense of decline, always. Even in moments of absolute revelry...a sense of being completely bound by circumstances. Even as those circumstances inherently yielded to completely unforeseen events, there was still a sense of the inevitable concurrent and thereabouts.
Everything was still entirely tangential, in terms of whatsoever response might come. Responses were inherent of circumstances, wholly contained thereby.
The scene in the last Matrix movie comes to mind (and it irks me to use this as an example, but I have to get over myself)...where Neo has come into a room with "The Source" and there are monitors on every surrounding surface. And every screen shows one potential for response, to every bit of dialogue...and the implication is that there are an entirely finite number of responses, thus that they're all to varying extents likely to be the one expressed as chosen. Bound, in that sense.
Bound, fixed, in the sense that any given response was only possible according to given perspective at any given moment and the inclinations prevalent thereof and thereby. Uninterrupted continuity along a particular course, even as that course might be altered into varying directions at particular points--varying dependent upon predilection for amusement, research, study, devotion, religious affiliation, social inclination, occupational pursuits, scholastic designs, and whatsoever else ever had or could be opted toward, even still in accordance with predilection and predisposition. Not as though, at one particular moment I was a devoted member of church, and in the very next instant I was bartending on Bourbon Street. Not as though I was bartending on Bourbon Street and in the very next instant was a full-time college student.
Not that there aren't folks whose individual paths have entailed seeming drastic alterations in mode of comportment within immediately brief spans of time; not as though there aren't people whose involvements aren't seemingly contradictory within a single span of time...just that, even then, there's yet an inherent order to those developments which is completely in accordance with whatsoever that person's individual perspective on life is and in direct accord with what they conceive of as "normal" or "acceptable" or "reasonable" or even just "desirable."
Like, as further instance...someone who absolutely loathes shopping isn't going to have an preference to work at a mall, although other factors involved in a decision to do so may hold sway over that aversion enough as to warrant devotion to so seeking employment thereabouts. Unless, alternately, that person has an innate tendency to do things to spite themselves. Which, even in such an instance, there's still a sort of logical procession to the choices and responses to circumstances and opportunity--no matter what the mechanism for the order, there's still order.
Even with the perceived chaos...that was our accepted order for progression. And it was very difficult to leave that seeming disorder in favor of more orderly social circumstances. Because there's generally a desire to be able to find some sort of accord with others, in terms of "how things should be," as to have a common point of perspective enough as to be able to encourage and support one another's hopes, dreams, and desires.
I'd never realized before quite how self-idolatrous it all is: making plans, forming goals, striving according to self-implemented directives, reinforcing and seeking support in others according to the same dynamic..
...all, according to a belief in one's own perception of what's best. Best in terms of "progress." Best, in terms of "success." Best...in terms of response and direction.
Even for Christians there's usually a disconnect, thereabouts, in terms of our relationship with God. I've been struggling with it to all manner of self-discouragement and frustration and grief, for months.
There's a line, though. Wherein it seems as though there's perspective that God expects us to take care of ourselves, yet that He doesn't really get involved in the details--not in the planning stages, nor in execution. Or maybe in one, but not the other. Or maybe passingly in each, but only as someone giving approval of our plans, as opposed to someone in complete authority who directs each step.
The technical difference between a supervisor and a manager, according to the terms themselves. One oversees duties, the other actively directs activities.
...superficially, same as the difference between deism and theism, according to present-tense understanding of the terms.
Only...in terms of the way Christian life is described in the Bible, theism's general definition of God's involvement still falls a bit short.
Like, for those who have had any semblance of a "normal" family...any involved, caring parent..
...would you call them your managing supervisor and consider that a sufficient description for their involvement in your life when you were yet elementary school-age?
Think of it even along this line:
Granted, it's not actually possible to compare any given human (or even the entirety of humankind) to God, in terms of wisdom, knowledge, and ability. Not possible. We are, ever have been, and will continue to be constrained to our individual (even as collective) understandings, in terms of our ability to know and understand anything..
..so, given that, we as individuals and as a species really aren't more than swaddled babes, in terms of our comprehension of anything, as compared to God's knowledge. And that statement is even greatly, vastly, infinitely overestimating our ability to understand things.. (Compare any fixed point, or even an endless line proceeding from a fixed point to infinity...and how much difference exists between the two?)
So, in terms of what you would have considered a loving parent's/s' role in the life of their beloved toddler, in regard to provision, direction, and authority...? Planning everything, laying everything out in order only as it needs to be done, ensuring all the proper tools and provisions are available as they become necessary, and basically just doing everything, providing everything, showing everything...and the child trusts and does as they're told, when they're told, trusting and obeying. Loving, as being so loved. And obeying.
In keeping with Jesus calling God our Heavenly Father, then...as those who are led by the Spirit of God are the Sons of God... ...where would you expect God to be involved in your life?
Just making Himself known in the precise places where we ask for approval? ...or directly planning, outlining on a step-by-step basis, and guiding us in our activities and pursuits?
I mean, goodness--we, none of us, know whether we're going to live through the night. Let alone whether we'll be alive in 20 years, or 30 or 40.
There seems to be a vast amount of ambiguity along those particular lines, from what's evidenced in general practices. On the one hand, it seems as though people "trust God to take care of the things they're not able to" (which is another borderline mentality which absolutely confounds--praise the Lord for deliverance!)... ...and they just expect His providential will is implicitly entailed in whatsoever manner goes by way of the things they do take care of. A vast assumption.
Many, many discussions overheard (and directly experienced) in terms of the express difference between God's permissive and providential will. And we all generally assume, just as being Christians, that we are thus therefore automatically walking in providence, all along the while.
Despite that numerous examples exist in the Bible as to how God's people erred greatly along that very same assumption. Being His isn't a free pass to do absolutely anything and consider it having been in accord with God's will. Otherwise, sanctification wouldn't be a Thing. And we wouldn't need to pray. And we wouldn't be pressing onward, because we'd have already arrived. We are ever arriving, and must ever press onward.
Reconciliation is a process. Concerning things which are disparate and pursuing meaningful alignment. Coming into accord.
This, with the Lord, is like that. Continually having to assess and reassess. Because there's more good in remaining in accord with Him than in allowing myself to wander back into wholly selfish and willful, untrusting territory.
Just, one of the major differences in how things are now really is summed up in that sense of living in a perpetually suspended state--ever remaining somewhat aloft from being entirely certain of what will be next, as a matter of coming to rely upon Him to reveal what need be done. Even if and when what need be done is precisely the same thing done yesterday. Perhaps moreso then, even, as the amount of dependence upon Him required as to continually move nearer to Him in the midst of circumstances which don't remarkably change daily... ...is humbling.
But as with all the other, so long as I relied upon my own understanding there were only a fixed number of possible developments and responses in any given circumstance. I could generally only respond in the same ways I'd ever responded, even if actively adapting toward different means of response (as in terms of cognitive behavior modification). I was still limited by what was natural to me.
Now, it's not like that. I still am greatly tempted to the same rash responses, sometimes...still am greatly tempted to the same rash behaviors, sometimes... ...but, prayerfully abiding in Christ makes it such that I'm free from being bound by that same behavior, by the same emotions.
I can still give into it, yeah, and do still... ..but the more I depend upon Him, the more I trust Him, the less I perceive myself as "obligated" to otherwise inborn and instilled patterns of response and behavior.
So, it's in that sense that things are "suspended," on one level. Like being in a suspension which never settles. Held aloft, always, as everything continues to move...even unto learning new ways of moving, myself, as a part of being freed from the otherwise overwhelming gravity of any given circumstances.
This is the same sense along which trust and obedience have been most apt to manifest, evidence, and thrive. When everything is considered as being explicitly in His control, and is viewed as wholly His domain. And it's my place to just obey.
Just...we're not to be anxious. We're not to worry. We're not to take thought for tomorrow, but to trust Him. And even as that seems to manifest somewhat differently in different people's lives, along these preceding lines has it manifested into mine. For which I'm grateful.
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