Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Nocturnal Romanticism

I am beginning to let go of my overbearing, belittling, and exhausting crush on this world. And honestly, I had no idea I even had one. Like an awkward pre-teen drowning in her secret obsession over Zack Effron and having it tragically exposed to the masses, haunting any hopeful chance for some self-esteem, I have now been rudely awakened to this disturbing reality.

Its grip has held me so tightly that even the strain of the infamous "Indian Burn", (a child's worst nightmare when big brothers are involved), cannot compare to its strength. And finally, finally, my X-ray Vision is being refined and I am learning to look beyond its temporary glamour.

This world, in all of its beauty, in all of its emptiness, is temporary. It is temporary, it is short-lived, it is powerless, it is cold-hearted, it is shallow, it is deceiving. And yet I, WE, fall madly in love with it. We crave its attention. We romanticize its value. We prop it up on a pedestal and become entranced by its superficial splendor. And because of this, we are blinded.

We are like the predator searching for its prey, our hearts beating wildly, uncontrollably as we wait in bitter and reluctant anticipation for our prey to make the slightest move so we can pounce. And like a bat in all of its genius, sending out sound frequencies to locate its prey, we send out anything, everything, in order to be heard, in desperate attempt to be accepted. We wait for our echo. And it comes. And we respond. Impulsively, our fast twitch muscles react to the sound as we dive full-force into the star-lit night in search of fulfillment. But just like the predator will later seek more prey once hunger strikes again, we will seek more "fulfillment". We will send out more calls, hoping for that echo. Oh please let there be an echo, we beg.

I am now beginning to understand just how broken I am. My heart is like broken glass pieces shattered all over the kitchen floor. And I hide in shame as I sweep it away, terrified that its eruptive ruin was somehow discovered.

But we must realize that all of our hearts have shattered onto the kitchen floor. All of our hearts have been broken into tiny pieces again and again and again. And yet, we still hide. We tremble at this loud explosion and the last thing we want is for our secret to be known, for the noise of its destruction to be heard. So we drown out the shattering interruptions with our unnecessarily noisy lives.

I am slowly being reintroduced to the Gospel.


  1. Wow MM, you got one talented brain. I know what you mean about shameful sweeping. Beautiful word picture.

  2. Beautifully written. I'm looking forward to reading more from you Mary Margaret. We can share so much just by sharing our own struggles and triumphs.

  3. Mary Margaret, this is exactly what I needed to hear today. I can't wait to read more.