Merry Darkness, Y'all

welcome

"Enter these doors to our open arms that always welcome those who are rejected, lost, and forlorn."
The needlepoint artwork is sewn with bright holiday colored silk embroidery threads and mounted in a frame of black walnut. It measures approximately six by twelve inches and hangs on the side lentil of the front entrance to Rose's house. Staying true to that message, no one who needs a family for the holidays is ever turned away. All are welcomed. None are turned away. Judgement is washed into the gutter or flushed down the toilet. Acceptance is given to all.
When asked why, she recalls a dream that she had when she was a young teenager.
"I was a social misfit at school."
We all kind of nod knowingly.
"I'll bet none of you are surprised by that revelation."
We all kind of laugh at the irony.
"I had this recurring dream where I'm standing in a grassy field staring at a farmyard pen with only one sheep with black wool inside. Then in a sudden change of scenery (as dreams so often do) I'm at the city dog pound facing a pen made of chain link fence housing this one disheveled gray stray of unknown breed. And then the dream genies transport me to an old fashioned movie drive-in where a solitary car is parked on one of those low rise dirt mounds that force a car's front end to be tilted up with the sole occupant watching the 'Revenge of the Nerds' movies. Finally, the dream would always end with me in a space suit floating outside of an orbiting space mansion, observing through a clear observation window a happy family with its obligatory three generations of people cheerfully interacting with each other in so fun ways while blissfully ignoring all the lonely on Earth below.
That dream caused me to be overwhelmed with feelings of such sadness that I would wake up sobbing and thinking 'No one should end their life as an Eleanor Rigby being buried by a Father MacKenzie'. As a result, I grew up to become the crazy lady you know me as today, Gandalf the Urban attracting the city's forgotten ones who seem to follow me home regardless of what I do or say."
We all kind of nod our heads appreciatively.
I look around at the expansive wall on the left side of the big front room where twenty or so black and white framed photos adorn the hardwood paneling. Each is of an individual person snapped when they were in a natural pose, seemingly unaware of the camera. "Rose, I notice that you have no group photos on your walls."
"I despise those posed 'You're not here' family group shots. They scream at me 'you're not one of us' each time I see one. They are not inclusive but exclusionary and I hate them with a passion I cannot adequately express."
"That's sounds like a harsh, contradictory statement coming from you. It hardly fits with the message of your dream. Perhaps the intended sentiment of group photos is 'miss you, wish you were here'."
"It doesn't come across to me that way. If it is a picture of a family and I am one of the close relatives of that family and I am not invited to be included in the photograph then the only conceivable message is 'Fuck you! You're not one of us. You're not a member of our tribe. Fuck you to hell and back!'.
Do not fucking keep sending me fucking pictures that remind me that I am rejected. I exist, goddamit, I exist, I am here, I am real."
The silence in the room is so stark that it might have been imported from the soundless depths of outer space. Calmer now, Rose continued.
"Yes, the photographs on the wall. Individuals matter more to me than tribes. I cannot state my feelings any more succinctly than that. Enough.
Okay, all you nut cracking introverted fools, find your corner - I think there's plenty here for everyone to have their own - and let's enjoy the day. You're all free to stay as long or as short as you like."
To my keen observant eye it appeared that each person stayed in direct proportion to the amount of time they had spent longing to feel accepted by others. I was the last to leave.

     After everyone else returned to their homes, Rose and I were alone.

     "Are you sure you want to go there?"
     "There can be no certainty when one has but one choice."
     "Here. Take my hand. I'll walk with you."
     "You cannot be neutral if this becomes personal for you, too."
     "I am your friend. Whatever this leads to, we will confront it together."
     "I've never before had a friend willing to follow me into the darkness."
     "You've never before had a friend like me. Are you worried about what we'll find?"
     "I'm scared shitless."
     "So am I."
     "Let's go."
     I close my eyes and descend into the foggy darkness of my mind's unspoken thoughts.

     "Where are we?" Rose asks.
     I respond, "Inside a Popeye's Fried Chicken restaurant in the lower garden district of New Orleans."
     "Scared shitless? Really?"
     "I'm talking to the manager. I ask her if I can use the store's phone to make a local call. She asks if it is for an emergency. I say, 'yes, the chain broke on the bicycle I was riding and I need a ride home'. She calls her preacher friend who is more than willing to help a stranger in need. He takes me to a nearby bike shop where they repair the chain at no cost to me or him. 'The owners attend his church', he says, 'we help each other and ask only that you repay us by helping the next person you find in need'. It's my first encounter with 'paying it forward' so, out of curiosity mostly at finding such unexpected kindness in the big city, I start attending his church. I've got to learn more about these people.
    The group is small in number and call their fellowship 'The Church of the Rising Son'. They are composed of misfits who did not feel accepted in traditional churches. Their creed is an idealistic one: 'The true meaning of the message from the lord is doing for others'. I am accepted into their ragtag group and soon come to love them and call them my friends."
     Apparently I paused in my recollection as Rose asked, "Are you okay?"
     "And there in the midst of those gentle people the light surrounded me and I was not afraid. Their emotional warmth cradled my friendless soul in ways I had never known before. I trusted them with my secrets and they responded in kind. On weekday evenings we would do volunteer work at homeless shelters or perform chores at the one of the food banks in the ninth ward. Twice I went with them to Jackson Square where we would wander around helping those who were too high or too drunk to help themselves. Our mission was not to save souls, but to save people.
     I belonged. I was accepted. I was part of something bigger than myself. I was happy. That is where I learned that I could care so deeply for other people that it hurts when I'm not with them. Life was good to me during that time and seemed only to be getting better.
     Then the deep black came and the darkness buried my spirit in a tormented hell as I descended into a walking coma from which I did emerge until almost thirty years later. It was as if a witch's spell was cast upon me that forced me to see the light in my life as darkness, while hiding the impending darkness in a cloak of fake light. During those three decades of starless night, two pillars of goodness were birthed and now one of those two hates me.
      It hurts too much to care so much for one who doesn't return the love. I can hardly stand on my own two feet because of the burden of carrying that heavy weight alone yet when I ask for help I am told that it's my problem and they will not be a part of the solution.
     My kind preacher friend would have helped. The people of The Church of the Rising Son would have let nothing stand in their way of finding a solution. Oh how I wish that I had the wisdom to perceive then what I know now."
     "I understand your pain better than I did before. You, my friend, are aware that you're the one now living by the light of eternal wisdom but it doesn't yet shine bright enough to penetrate through the darkness enveloping those whom you love the most."
     "They are in the walking coma."
     "But they don't know it."
     "The darkness that is most familiar to their senses seems less frightening than the light that is strange and new and just outside the reach of their understanding."
     "Exactly."
     "But am I right and they wrong? Am I the winner and they the losers?"
     "Don't be too quick to judge. That may be the case or maybe not. From their perspective, the situation separating you all does seem to be a matter of right and wrong. They lack the good knowledge that will enable them to transcend such a destructive dichotomy. We all need more wisdom. We all need to show more mercy. We all could benefit from the light of more perfect knowledge."
     "Some just need it more than others."
     "You, my friend, hate 'hate' and want to see it evaporate under the light. They see a need for 'hate' and have no desire to replace it with something better. Hate helps them to believe that they are better than you. My guess is that they hate a lot more people than just you."
     "Stop being so politically correct. You're my friend not my therapist, remember saying that? They are fucking wrong in their attitudes and behavior."
     "They could do better, yes."
     "Is there any way to care but not feel the pain of not being cared for in return? It's like shouting into a deep canyon that doesn't return an echo."
     "The only way to not feel the pain is to stop caring and to stop caring, is to stop loving. I have a feeling that isn't a possibility for you."
     "Ah, sweet pain, how I do so embrace you as a sign of my unending love for ones so close yet so far away."
     "That was melodramatic. Your teenage acting class lessons emerging from their closet?"
     "What is the saying? Knowledge is the key to understanding? But little of that knowledge is comforting when trying to understand the pain of an unrequited love."
     "My love, please pay it forward and forgive me for sounding dismissive and curt when I state the obvious answer to your query: that's life."

End