helpless (satisfied)

I was rereading my old copy of Boy Meets Girl: Say Hello to Courtship and, well, the nitty-gritty didn’t resonate. You shouldn’t be surprised. It never really did resonate, not even when I bought the darn thing. There are ideas I might bring up in a later blog post that do work for me, yes.

This afternoon, I am reminded that I am as far from Harris as I am from hooking up — somewhere in the middle, as usual.

You see, according to Harris, I shouldn’t be listening to very good music. No, not at all. No, since the brush of a lover’s fingertips across your cheek can lead you tumbling into sin, stay away from anything that gives you that thrill and…

…I’d have to wear earplugs all the time.

Because look around, look around: or rather listen! Don’t you feel the story in every song? Don’t you turn on the radio and there’s a piece of boring safe classical and suddenly wham? A measure, a melody, a counterpoint, a harmony, all of this is my ruin as thoroughly as kissing is another girl’s. If his voice is wrong I can’t love him. If his voice is right, I may sigh after him without ever seeing his face. (Eleven years old. Savage Garden breaks into the US Top 40.)

Do you know the power in a well-played duet? Have you ever placed yourself so in tune with another person, literally or figuratively? Two people, for a few minutes, must operate as one. It’s a beautiful intimacy, one that doesn’t ask you to open your body, one to be praised instead of judged.

To extend the idea — do you ever dream you’re back in the middle of the camaraderie of an ensemble? Do you ever recall the apostolic nature of the role: here is my shepherd. I am his lamb. He must lead us down the same path be it broad and smooth or narrow and rough. We must trust him and in turn he must do right by us.

Give all my sins to the Cross? But when I remember guilt, I remember being unable to give my all to the music. I came crying to my director that day I broke down in high school. I needed his absolution in order to go on.

All my life, God has been in music and music in God. I don’t know all the prayers off by heart. I don’t take Communion anywhere. I only lift up my voice. I lift it up to Creation and give thanks for this much left to me after all that I have lost. This much is enough to sustain me. Even if I went deaf there would be something. I would go on singing long after I could hear myself. I could not stop the song if I tried. The song and the story weave through me, as fundamental to life as breath. I sing and I write like I’m running out of time.

It’ll take someone special to bring me down from the sacred heights. I want a husband who will be as a duet partner. I want to feel alive and unashamed when I am with him and I am not throwing away my shot at that just to live up to current dating standards.

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