Somewhere Over the Rainbow (or Kentucky)
I can imagine him. Stepping into the last home he would ever have. I imagine it was a sunny day. Blue skies, birds chirping, the whole nine yards.
Or maybe it was completely gray.
And I see him stepping into his new home and looking around. Humble, quiet, simple. The tiny hut filled with only necessities. The entire space would be cleared, at its most basic, so Spirit could take up the entire room and make a home. I also picture a wooden desk in the corner. Maybe with some blank pages waiting to be written on, eager to capture any bits of wisdom it could. The empty hut nestled into the quiet woods waited. In quiet and in solitude, the world would be changed.
”Contemplation is basically a social matter. Solitude has its own special work: a deepening awareness that the world needs. A struggle against alienation. True solitude is deeply aware of the worlds needs… Contemplation at its highest intensity becomes a reservoir of spiritual vitality that pours itself out in the most telling social action.” – Thomas Merton.
Merton knew his solitude was not only for him. His discipline, desire, and contemplation were not his to keep. G-d blessed him with these things so that the world would be changed, so that wisdom could be passed on, so that the world could imagine that another way is possible.
In this solitude, Merton wrote and wrote. Each pen stroke ambitiously daring to capture divine perfect truth, even though surely slightly twisted by the limitations of human intellect and language.
Raw humanity completely exposed before the divine.
Connection with the self as connection with G-d. An ear deafening loudness, the booming voice of G-d, in the still and quiet woods of Kentucky.
Far removed from the rest of civilization but deeply connected to humanity because through his time alone, Merton somehow figure out what it meant to be truly human- in touch with himself. Worshipping G-d in daring to be fully himself.
And there he was. The bar, just moments before, loud with weekly reunions and louder drink orders. Everything was dark except for the bright lights pointed at the stage. A small section of chairs facing the front- expectant, but mostly ready to applaud whatever was going to happen because no matter what, truth would be exposed somehow and it was worth celebrating. And then he stepped onto the stage.
His costume was simple. Jeans. Men’s military t shirt. Then there was another. He had a beard and an empty beer can in hand. Trucker hat matched the ironically tacky cotton t shirt and fanny pack. And then she came on stage. Beautiful, dancing provocatively to a Top 40 hip hop song. Her leather boots rising past her knees and sequined top fit snugly to show off her midriff. And she danced and performed. Her eyes were dancing faster than her legs. The crowd woo’ed and applauded.
She. He. They. All. They loved it. They danced, sang, sat, performed. Some flubbed the words, some almost fell, and one ran off crying. No matter. They were safe to be themselves through their performativity. The theatricaility that exaggerated their character became a symbol of who they actually were at their rawest. Gender was left at the door. It was only welcomed if it was willing to be bent, varied, played with. Nothing to blur because there weren’t any lines. They were free to be themselves. In all the costumes, make up, torn jeans, unplugged guitar, there was paradoxically heavy , yet light air of human expression. The speakers boomed louder than all the glitter and sequins sang. But somehow, there was a stillness as well. If we would just stop and look, time became frozen. And we could see his performance take a snapshot of who he was during this place, this night. It was good.
Raw humanity completely exposed before the Divine.
Monasteries. Queer clubs. Hermitage. Drunken performances. Solitude. Unconditional community.
It’s all the same, isn’t it?
A desire to know ourselves, be known by others, and somehow connect to the Divine all in one.
I used to think I needed to reconcile my worlds because of their constant collisions. And yet. Perhaps these traditions, performances, prayers, and all the rest are all trying to reconcile me with myself in order so that I may to dare to expose myself to a G-d who loves me.
It is David dancing naked in front of G-d.
In the stillness of the night in Kentucky, tucked away in a cabin. In the crowded drag king and queen shows at the bar in downtown Oakland.
Hallelujah.
