It's magic too, when we're puddling about about in these shielded, protected lives and someone shows up with something we've never seen before, or thought about before, or were ashamed of, or hiding from. When they connect with something deep in their own souls, and make a bridge across to ours. It takes such courage.
I made the mistake in the past of thinking that if I connected with an idea or experience in someone else, then I should adopt that idea or experience for myself. I adore how fierce and raw this person writes, then I should write fierce and raw too. I love that other person's style, or social conscience, or physical courage, I should have that sort of style, or social conscience, or physical courage as well.
It's always been unsustainable and even dishonest, because it's not how I respond to life, it's not what moves me. I'm not them, I'm not you. And it's a way of staying shielded and protected I suppose, because if it meets with failure and rejection, it's not me who failed or was rejected.
I respond to the small things. Taking Warren's phone outside this afternoon in lieu of a camera, I found an intricate web wrapped around a drain pipe. I saw light playing hide and seek across a bedroom window, and discovered a lily that looked like an oddly magnificent sea creature. It's so easy, so tempting to dismiss these things as facile, silly, unimportant. What sickness will they cure, what war will they bring peace to, whose dead child will they bring back to life?
None, and none, and no-one's. Loving life enough to dance in the darkness is all it is. It's all I've got. And if I dance, then maybe someone else will see me dance, and maybe they will gain a measure of courage in their own convictions, in the same way that I have gained courage from others. Maybe this will make some kind of difference to the world, probably it won't. It does makes a difference to me. It gives me reason to hope instead of despair, to endure instead of giving in.
Which isn't facile, silly, or unimportant at all.