All This Time, I've Been Learning How To Die

It seems things are now so different for you and I Sometimes I sit and stare at you and wonder what the hell was going on last year And I wonder how the syntax of our motions ever aligned theres my waking and my resting mind, and maybe we rested together, but i can't imagine us working in harmony, no, our keys never match, or maybe we're both so locked to the perspectives we hold that the thought of ripping ourselves out of this angle hurts too much it hurts too much to follow through to reset this compass, find a new north and find a new 180 degrees so we stay in each others peripherals, unaware of who is where in each other do I rest where in you where you rest in me? Yesterday I was driving with a friend, going on about some quasi-meta-one-more-prefix-philosophical approach to spirituality, and she interrupted me with the comment that she loved how my walk with G-d was so focused on the intellectual side. I bristled. For two reasons. I responded that it wasn't a walk, it was a wrestling match. And then I didn't go into the emotional doubts that often masquerade themselves as intellectual issues, and are expressed as such, but in reality are anything but. Later on that night, I was talking to the husband over some surprisingly tasty McCafe products, and I extended the metaphor slightly; I realized I'm not wrestling with G-d per se: it's more of an intricately choreographed post-modern self-referential dance. At time's our steps seem out of place to the music, and the dancers tackle each other and fumble their way through simple steps. But these are planned to give more beauty and impact to whent the symphony swells and everything fits for a fleeting moment of sensory perfection. Then the chaos begins anew. Something else I enjoy about this metaphor is the difference between dancing and walking. In a walk, there is a destination, an external goal, and a measurable way of tracking success: we started here, we are going here, we are going this speed. In a dance, it's more of an internal journey for those watching, with no real discernibility towards success aside from general feelings or moods given off by the audience. The dancers express, and the watchers are moved (or unmoved) depending on the motions of those on the stage. I often feel like the things I deal with are only fully realized as overcome or worthwhile when they are shared with someone who responds. If I come up with a theory, or struggle with a concept and arrive at a workable end, but I don't share it with anyone, the entire process is incomplete. There is a certain catharsis and enjoyability to the struggle, but it's the sharing that gives it completion and meaning. Much like dance. A dancer may enjoy the freedom that seclusion affords, but the stage is where the magic happens, and the real soul is bared. And as such, that is how I feel I interact with G-d: a violent, twirling, dizzying, chaotic, beautiful, artistic, sensual yet measured mode of infinite expression and definition.