Sometimes you give yourself away to someone ... and sometimes they give you back to yourself.
If it's never happened to you then thank your lucky stars that you'll never understand the severity of the words. The gift of yourself has been consistently accepted and probably returned in equal proportion to what you gave.
"And in the end," sang the Beatles, "the love you take is equal to the love you make."
Except that its not always true.
Sometimes you give more than you get and it catches up with you ... and relationships go wrong ... work sours ... faith fades ... confidence erodes ... life becomes a prison.
And you are faced with a horrible choice ... stay put or break free.
I know a lot of people who choose to stay put in spite of recognizing the life they are living is a dead end street. Try as they may, nothing gets better.
All of those years that I worked with homeless people taught me a lot of lessons about the rest of us. We all have this incredible capacity to adapt ... to the bad things. It is not all that far from a man sleeping in a cardboard house built on top of a subway grate for warmth on a bitter, freezing night ... to sleeping coldly next to someone you do not love and who doesn't love you.
Working at a job that is not satisfying may pay the bills but leaves you less than you are.
Praying without ceasing that things will get better only to have things stay the same leaves you ... questioning.
That's a lot of people. Then they decide to break free and it happens in one of two ways. Many simply flee with no real concern about who or what they're leaving behind. "I'm getting the hell out of here because anywhere is a better place to be."
Except its not. "Hell's portable," says my friend Guy Sayles, "you take it with you wherever you go."
He's right about that. I know many who have fled for the Promised Land only to find more broken promises ... most of which were made to themselves. "I'll never do that again," they say ... but then they do.
The other way of breaking free though is more thoughtful ... spiritual ... rooted in the same pain as wandering around in the wilderness or hanging on a cross ... it is grounded in belief ... I will really live in spite of this.
"I will make myself better. I will be all that I am capable of being. I will surround myself with people who love me for who I am and not who they want me to be. I will be born again."
So this past weekend, I was reborn. Like any birth there was pain involved ... way too damn much of it ... but then there is the precious, unbridled joy and uncontrollable happiness of ... just being me. And find that I am loved for it.
Last night several of us gathered to just be together again. We've all been through so much. We've shared our hurts and disappointments and made laughter in barren lands. We're all at different places but on the same pilgrimage ... and we love each other for that.
I'm sitting here watching it rain like a "Mutha". Some low front is hanging over the ocean and it's pissing on the island as though full of anger and frustration. The sliding glass door is open and the wind blows Fran's thousand shades of green everywhere. A limb snaps from a tree narrowly missing the fence but falling on a flower bed. The violent wind blows into my kitchen and kisses my cheek ... I laugh and kiss it back.
Not too long ago I would have been sad by what they day was giving me. That was before I broke free. So this morning is an afternoon delight. This afternoon will be the dawning of a new life. Tonight will be the continued birth of me.
"Free as a bird," the Beatles sang in the very last thing that they did together long after John Lennon was dead, "Whatever happened to the love that we once knew ... always made me feel so free ... as a bird."
But with this crazy rain and wind on a rotten day when I'm finally back home, I find myself smiling Mona Lisa smiles, feeling free ... as a bird.
