Wednesday, March 16, 2011

ellegua at the crossroads, baby

Standing at the crossroads waiting for the light to change. Permission, really, is what we seek. Although we don't think of it that way. That's what Ellegua's about: letting us pass. Or not. When we're standing at our own pedestrian crosswalk we assume that permission. That it's just a question of when we get to go. We never seem to question the if. Is that an American sense of self-entitlement — or is it merely human?

But the larger the crossroads, the more we have to consider the if. Should we cross that line?

At what point can I change direction?

At what point am I freed to change direction?

At what point do I change direction?

They're not the same.

M said no. And he's a psychiatrist!

People like stagnation. Okay, he didn't say it quite like that. He used the word 'comfort' — people stay because things are familiar. Because what's already there is known, and that's a form of comfort.

I think I screamed. And I'm not a screamer.

I think I said I'd rather slit my throat than go on and on and on knowing every word I'd ever say, every word I'd ever hear. That 'comfort' was stifling. That there were no surprises any more.

"People don't leave for that reason," he said, reasonably.

They leave because of abuse.

Sorry, that's not true. Often, people stay — despite the abuse.

But here, there was no abuse.

He's a very good man. He's always been a very good man. He's still a very good man.

I left because I was at the crossroads.

What else can you do? A force larger than my self compelled me across the terrifying abyss into the unknown. How could I have known what was coming? And what did I find on the other side?


Was it a shock? No, not at all. I just wasn't expecting it quite so fast, although I'd been waiting my whole life. And doing nothing about it. Very passive indeed.

Stepping to the other side was a new kind of comfort — the inevitable one.

We find ourselves facing Ellegua. Sometimes kicking and screaming. Sometimes welcoming, with wonder and not fear. Did I ever say thank you? I'm not quite sure.

But I'm saying thank you now. A little late, I know.

Did I ever not say thank you?

The vista opens. Here's another crossroads, baby.

Something's there that I can't see.

"Instead of trying binoculars, baby — close your eyes and trust that you're with me."

Wonder School or Fear School, baby.

So. Okay.

I'm at the crossroads — though I don't know where it leads. You stand behind me. You give me a little push. You guide me. I take a step — eyes closed, with heart wide open — into the unknown.

To Ellegua, with love and gratitude. Wonder School, baby, here I come.

But I'm still gonna question it. Every step along the way.

That's just what we atheists do, baby.


  1. and having written that — everything began to change. Go figure.

  2. Well you stand on the corner long enough and the earth will shift beneath your feet. But I still have no comment.

  3. Yah, maybe it's that. I do wait a long time for shifts to happen — and I don't move until they're right there.

    But your 'no comments' comments are very loud indeed!

    This post wasn't what you might think. Something DID shift — right after I wrote it. I'd planned on waiting a bit before posting it, but no, it seemed to have to be now.