Anyone out there counted the layers to fear lately? I got disabused of another one last night. I was going to say it was layers of pride, but realized that would be to name the symptom rather than the disease. I was sitting in a dark theater with some of my best friends, watching Robin Hood and commenting my way through it. Per usual. (Side note: if for no other reason, see it because it's absobloominlutely beautiful.) Then God conspired.
Crane shot above the bad guy striding in the castle gate in a billowing black cape.
"Gratuitous use of cape!" I said.
"Yeah," quoth Dale, "but I like it."
Beat, beat.
I realized I did too. In fact the only reason I had said anything in the first place was because I liked it. But, heaven help me! I was liking a cliche! Something the filmmakers had intended me to like. I couldn't do that, could I? That would expose my innate simplicity and destroy my precious snobbery which I assumed was necessary to protect myself from other peoples' bad opinions. After all, I've spent a life-time making sure people think of me as a smart, with-it, tasteful girl who has risen above her sheltered up-bringing. Ugh, that looks harsh in print.
But that's fear. Basic, craven fear. "If I am not myself, who will be?" says Pirke Avot. If I hide behind a projection, no one is well-served-- not me, not you, not the Body, not the Lord.
So, confession:
*I think billowing capes are cool,
*Half-light is amazing,
*I like my corduroy jacket,
*and my brown boots that make me look like a hick.
*I would rather live a quiet life.
*I can do a lot of things, but that doesn't mean I have to.
*I am not an extrovert.
*And flowers, stars, moonlight, and tree tunnels make me disproportionately happy.
There you go.
3 comments:
Oh I love you.
:) :) :) :) :)
Me, too, Emily.
:)
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