Mysteries without Answers

             After a decade of debrainwashing, I hit an impasse.  “Debrainwashing” is what I called that process of lifting, layer by layer, the conditioning I had been taught by my family, education, religion, and society at large.  In some way to and to some extent, I was finding each layer false.  Whatever I had been taught was not, in fact, true.  I had fallen into the rabbit hole, taken the Matrix red pill, and the more untruths I uncovered, the more I found.  I had hit that point that every genuine truth-seeker eventually arrives: is there anything we can know to be true?

            If you take any paradigm to its natural conclusion, you hit its delusion, its opposite.  You will prove it wrong with your own paradigm.  My heroine of Just like Eve took the training she had been given by her church to its conclusion and exposed the lie based on its own teaching.  Although her church condemned Eve, Jasmine read the Bible the way her church taught her to read it and found Eve heroic.

Physicists are doing the same thing.  While probing the mysteries of science, they are undermining their own laws.  Their own tools and methods are proving their science to be false. 

In Why Fish Don’t Exist, Lulu Miller shows the same for the scientist she follows, David Starr Jordan.  He had faithfully followed Darwin’s scientific philosophy, faced despair, and only conquered his despair by discounting his own philosophy, yet not admitting it.  Taking his own philosophy to its conclusion, he had declared “Nature no respecter of persons,” yet he overcame his despair with an opposite manifesto: “That which is in man is greater than all that he can do.”  Of this Miller says, “It was the kind of lie he promised he would never tell himself.”  Later, she demonstrates that Jordan undermined Darwin’s philosophy when he, Jordan, declared certain persons “unfit,” even advocating for their sterilization.  Darwin, however, had adamantly insisted this is Nature’s job.  Not man’s.  Darwin warned men not to interfere with Nature.  Jordan, a devoted follower of Darwin, did just that.

My own truth-seeking under the paradigm I had been taught also led me to its natural conclusion.  I had “wrestled” for years with the “God” I had been taught, particularly “his” cruelty that extended even to commanding genocide.  In my moment of emptiness, like Nietzsche, I declared this “God” “dead.”  Although the death of this “God” was a relief, I was now left with the greatest of mysteries: What is the realm just beyond our senses?  Is there an Intelligence within it? Does this Intelligence care about us, in our world?

My impasse into emptiness was mirrored by my external life. Within two years (2021-23), a mere blink, I had lost my marriage, my career, my two kids off to college, and even our two cats, the first to my former husband and the second to my daughter.  It was also during this blink that I left the church and the “God” it taught, though continued to follow its teacher.  Just has my inner life had morphed into emptiness, so did my outer life into an empty home, no longer a teacher, wife or mom with kids and cats at home.

My blank slate drew me into discoveries new yet old, ancient, in fact, that had lain deep within my own intuition.  Having studied the wisdom of other traditions, I was aware of the ancient maxim, As Above, so Below, along with its corollary, expressed, for example, in Saying 22 in the Gospel of Thomas, to “make the inner as the outer,” or that our internal self is reflected by our external life.  My own life demonstrated this to be true.

Meanwhile, I was finding synchronicities everywhere, a remarkable universal harmony among all things, and that what I sow I also reap.  It often comes many years later and in ways I never would have imagined, but in some way, sometimes happily and sometimes sorrowfully, in my own lifetime, I reap what I sow.

Still, mysteries without answers remain.  Maybe I reap what I sow, but does everyone? I’ve longed to see it confirmed, yet meet another impasse.  Bullies keep bullying and the bullied keep getting kicked.  How do wealthy narcissists who exploit others to make themselves great again and again continue to win in the game of life? 

True, occasionally, some rich bastard gets his due, locked up for some white collar crime, with his mug shot plastered over the evening news, and the rest of us celebrate that this crook who had stolen from thousands finally got what was coming to him.

But the story, reporting the conviction of this crook, masks all that’s behind it.  Who are the crook’s friends?  Superiors?  Colleagues?  Was he just a fall guy?  For a much bigger empire?  A pawn of a mafia?  My longing for revenge upon the hateful persists. 

Then there are the kind, lovable, oppressed, exploited, abused ones who have done nothing to receive such abuse, then die a cruel death.  Again, no answers. 

I think about the little boy in a favorite story, who stands amidst a vast mass of starfish washed upon the seashore, throwing a few, one by one, back into the ocean.  A passerby, perhaps a teenager who’s been stomping on the poor starfish to his twisted delight, mocks the boy. “You can’t save them all.”  The boy picks up another, tosses it into the ocean and says, “But I can save that one.”  This little boy will reap what he sows, right?  Some day, someone might save him too?  And what about the teen who’s been gleefully torturing other starfish?  Will he also reap what he sows?

I wonder whether I can’t see the “reaping” for the people I find hateful because I find them hateful.  Seeking vengeance, perhaps I’m not intended to enjoy the chance to see them get their due.

Could the Universe be testing us?  Are we given exceptions to the sowing and reaping law to keep the mystery alive?  We see exceptions, point to them, and say to ourselves, “It’s not true.  What we sow, we don’t reap.  Look at them.”  So what do we do?  We start sowing bad seeds to our own delight at the expense of other people, because, why not? 

Given that we all intuitively believe what goes around comes around, we’re challenged with the exceptions.  Will we follow our intuition and try to sow kindness?  Or, will we be tempted to follow the exceptions that tell us it doesn’t matter, that we can do whatever we want?

With plenty of reason to doubt, many quit bothering to try.  Others persist in the hope for a reward and get disappointed when the “return” seems elusive or takes a long time.

That’s me.  Staying true to my intuition of its truth, I’ve tried to live it, and often, the “reward” comes barely in time to avoid a crisis.  Could this be because I’ve expected one?  If I were more like the boy who casts a starfish back into the ocean just because he can “save that one,” would the return appear more readily?  Perhaps to me, the Universe has shrugged, “Yeah, yeah, you sowed, so you’ll also reap, because that is how the Universe works, but you since you did it for a reward, you’ll have to wait for it.  You’ll have to wait so long, you’ll doubt it.  Then it can be known whether you’re willing to sow even if you don’t reap.”

Imagine a friend of the boy, also casting back starfish, who hears the boy’s reply that he can “save that one” and, in sheer delight, pipes in, “And it’s fun to throw them back!” 

These two boys aren’t saving starfish because they think one day they’ll also be saved.  They are sending the starfish back in a moment of joy.  They delight in saving starfish.  Maybe we also can delight that there are some mysteries without answers.

 

© 2024 by Karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use with permission and/or a link to this blog post.

Finding Life in the Dead Rose Bush

            I have two rose bushes, one of which received attention last year, needs more this year, and can be saved.  The other I had not yet attended to before I lost the use of my hands in August.  I have my hands back, but only after months of healing and therapy.  For that story, see “Letting Go, Part 1.” 

            This spring, my second rose bush spoke the message of its neglect.  The lost treasure was now overcome with a great many dead branches protruding through a mass of weeds, four feet high, towering over a plant that had previously produced a burst glorious magenta, rich blossoms of roses abounding with life.  None were now to be seen through a corpse covered over with weeds of various sorts and crabgrasses a foot above the branches.

I have no "Before" photo of the rose bush with its towering weeds, but they looked like these.

And here the weeds and dead branches now.

 

            Expecting the need for a landscaper to come in with some equipment to haul off my dead bush, I spent this spring attending to other parts of my yard.  Finally, last week, I skeptically wondered whether my dead bush could be saved.  If nothing else, I could reduce the cost for someone to come in and haul it away by minimizing its size.  

With a deep breath and determination, I met my former treasure, the current adversary I had created, and I began weeding around the bush, through it, and clipping dead branches.  It’s delicate work because even the dead branches have thorns, pricks screaming at me for what my neglect had done to their source of life. 

To my astonishment, as I pulled the weeds and clipped the dead branches, little signs of life – small, tender branches with green leaves on them – came into view.  These brave little babies poked through, trying to survive beneath their oppressors and crying for help. 

Now my work became even more delicate.  I had been its careless killer, and now I vowed to be its careful savior.  I knew this remnant with life, these little, courageous branches of green, must be protected while their aggressive invaders and the corpses among them get cut out.  Slowly, carefully, patiently, I made progress to save the lives of the budding branches.  

I can save the rose bush.  I had been sure it was dead, and now, I am sure it has life.

 

Amazingly, the rose bush has life!

This process of weeding, pruning, and cutting out what’s dead mimics my life of the past three years.  During this time, I’ve lost my marriage, my career, my next job to a fire, the use of my hands, my kids off to college, and just last week, ended a temporary position.  Weeding, pruning, cutting out what’s dead.  Letting Go.  For three years, letting go of what has lost life has marked my life, and now it is time to find life in death.  My rose bush tells me I can.  Surprising life buds in what has died. 

This morning, as I shared the story of my rose bush, a friend spoke what many have said to me in these past few years.  “For all you’ve been through, I admire you and honor you.  I would have been crushed to lose so much so quick.” 

“I don’t think I would have made it had I not seen little signs of life, like those promising branches of life,” I replied.  “Surprising, little buds of life that I would not have expected to be there, kept showing themselves to me, keeping me going, giving me hope, helping me to never give up.” 

There is Life in death.  Now, after years of letting go, I am sure of that too.  Let go, and watch the surprising blossoms shoot into Life.

© 2023 by Karina.  All rights reserved.  Use only with permission.

Letting Go: A Return to Hibernation

         In August, I fell six feet from a play gym while leaning against an insecure beam to clip tree branches.  Only a miracle protected me from being no more injured than two broken wrists and soft tissue damage to my right hand.  Still, without hands, I had to let go.  The metaphor of my injury – losing the use of my hands – fits so perfectly into the season of my life.  In 2021 and 2022, I lost my career, my marriage, my two kids off to college, my next place of work destroyed in a fire, and in the middle of those losses, the use of both of my hands.  In each of these, I had to “let go,” and in one of them, literally.  Last month I began a series here, with the story of my six foot fall on “Letting Go.” 

Currently, I’m drafting “Letting Go, Part 2: Life without Hands,” to describe the experience of literally letting go of everything, what it was like, and what I was learning from it.  To do so takes some time, and I hope it will be ready in March.  Meanwhile, I’ve been marveling over the preoccupations that began to capture my imagination during the pandemic.  Should I be chilled or awed by the prophetic nature of some of my posts in the past couple of years, like this one, this one, this one, and, especially, at the start of 2022, this one. 

Little did I know in January, 2022 quite how much “Hibernation” would mark my coming year.  Here is a repost of this poem from a year ago; then below the poem is a small sneak peek for the experience and the lessons of “Letting Go.”

 

Hibernation

The creatures of fur follow the signs of Nature

We creatures of skin run to and fro

no matter Her works of beauty or terror

Snow coming, forecasters warn

The furs, ready, hibernate

The skins, deaf, go about their day

 

All afternoon, snow surprises

dumping,

dumping,

softly,

quietly,

deceptively

 

The day still young

the sky turns black

Snowflakes stream,

glistening the darkening sky

in lights of white

haloed in orange

 

Any who slow themselves

who sit

who watch

fuse with the flakes in stillness

 

5 am, calls go out

Schools are closed

Businesses are closed

Roads are blocked

All are snowed in

 

What if calls come the night before?

Or before quittin’ time the day before?

When the creatures of fur,

with no forecasters,

are already nestled in hibernation?

 

“Take My yoke upon you,”

says the master,

“For My load is light, and My burden is easy.”

Racing about, we wonder how

 

Could we hear the wisdom of the furs

who follow the signs of Nature

and work when it is time to work

play when it is time to play

rest when it is time to rest

 and who know there is a season for outings

and a season for hibernation?

 

I of skin,

used to the race,

am paralyzed, mute

Could I learn from the furs?

Could I learn

of a time to speak,

a time be silent,

a time to walk,

a time to rest,

and a season to hibernate?

 

            I think this is precisely what I’m learning.  Although August and September were hardly months for “Hibernation,” they were for me, when I could do little and go nowhere.  It was like Life was saying Let Go and Hibernate, and while you do, you’ll reflect and learn the beauty of letting go.  As a sneak preview, some of this is that I am not invincible; to have humility, gratitude, a gentle touch, and take nothing for granted; to forgive myself and release myself from others’ expectations; to slow down and let go!; and to build compassion and sensitivity for others in whatever limitations or trials they may have. 

Letting Go:

Letting Go, Part 2: Life without Hands

Letting Go: Part 1: The Fall

Davie's Return, Part 2 (Conclusion to "Just like Eve")

 Dear readers, this is it, the final selection of "Just like Eve!"  If you are joining us now, you could start at the beginning, begin with Jasmine’s most recent discoveries or with Jasmine’s serve.   For Davie’s processing, see his conversations with his mentor here, here, and here. For Jasmine’s, see especially her later insights here and here.

Storyline: "Just like Eve" follows the forbidden love story and the spiritual quest of married heroine Jasmine, ordered out of her church for a kiss with the youth pastor, Davie, also married.  Jasmine and Davie both contend with their unfitting marriages, their forbidden love, the rules of the church, and the conventions of marriage and divorce.  Meanwhile, for the kiss, Jasmine is accused again of being “just like Eve,” a phrase she heard at eleven for asking why Noah let God drown the world.  

She's prompted to investigate the figure of Eve from its original Hebrew text and discovers not only that Eve is seeking wisdom (to be admired), but also that the Hebrew word for serpent is linguistically tied to the word for messiah, and that the Hebrew word ezer, translated as “helper” for the woman, is closer to “life-saver,” a play on words for Eve (havah) which means “life-giver."  She first notes even the plain text in English presents Eve as cursed not only with child-birth, but also to “desire her man” who "will rule over her.”  Unwittingly, Jasmine turns Augustine’s interpretation of Eve, still widely accepted today, on its head, liberating Eve, herself, and women from "centuries of misunderstanding."

 

September 27, 2012, Glendale Racquet Club, Colorado Springs, CO

Davie’s Return, Part 1 conclusion:

Kristina is now on Jasmine’s side of the net, muttering, “Speak of the devil.”  How is Kristina standing here?  Didn’t I just see her on the other side of the net, about to flip her racquet?  Jasmine had not realized how deep in thought she had been.  “Oh, sorry, I guess I shouldn’t say ‘devil,’” Kristina chuckled.

BD, in a voice bold, deep, and victorious, snaps Jasmine out of her trance.  "It looks like we no longer have a perfect eight!"

Jasmine sees her partner glancing over to the corner of the furthest away back court, raising his arm high with a thumbs up.

A surprise is leaning against the wall, with one foot crossed over the other leg, the casual stance of a figure who belongs right where he is.

Davie.

 

And now, for the final conclusion of Just like Eve, Davie’s Return, Part 2: 

Davie is four tennis courts away, but to Jasmine, he feels so close.  They haven’t seen each other in seven months.  After their kiss, the church elders sent her out of church and told him, their youth pastor, to quit their tennis group’s Mixed Doubles Night.

Davie returns BD's thumbs up, pushes himself away from the wall, and turns his head to Jasmine.  Her heart, flushing, feels like it’s doubling in size.  With a slow pace, Davie begins to walk toward her; she matches his pace and meets him between the second and third courts.  They stand together silent, breathing in rhythmic synchronicity.  With a warm smile, he hugs her.  It seems she is right where she belongs.

In a quiet voice, Jasmine breaks their silence.  “They finally let you go.”

“I finally quit.”  Davie’s voice is also quiet, but with conviction.  “Three weeks ago.”

The same time as her divorce?

BD pats Davie on the shoulder.  “It’s been a long time, Bro.  Partner with her.”  Stepping back, he says he’ll sit the first four games out.

“Let’s skip the racquet flip,” Kristina says, offering the serve to Davie and Jasmine.  Davie shakes his head, says he hasn’t played in a while and asks them to serve.  Despite his absence, Davie holds his serve, as do all the players.  They’re tied up 2-2, but with nine players, it’s time to rotate BD in.

“Where has Davie been?” Stephen asks once the players have all gathered with BD at the bench for a water break.  He turns to Davie.  “And what are you doing now?”

“Where I’ve been is complicated,” Davie replies, but now he’s teaching high school PE and Health. The school is taking a chance on him, because he doesn’t have a teaching certificate.  They wanted someone more qualified, but no one came forth.  He was called in at the end of August and given a substitute until he was ready.  “I started Monday.”

“That’s a big change.” Jasmine’s smile indicates her pride.

Davie shifts his weight from his right foot to his left.  He has an even bigger change to reveal, but needs to build up to it.  “I’ve been learning a lot about myself,” he says, bowing his head, and whispering into Jasmine’s ear, “since our kiss.” 

Jasmine blushes, but the other players don’t see the whisper or the blush.  They’re calling out to Jaime, a tenth player walking onto the court, who BD invites to partner with him.  Davie smiles and suggests to Jasmine they play singles.  As they walk onto a new court, Davie tells Jasmine he wanted so much to be “good” that, without realizing it, he let his family and then Pam make his life decisions.  “Until all the pieces of my life started to fall apart.”  Davie looks up to Jasmine, one of those pieces, and then bounces two balls to her.  “You serve first.”

She plays a powerful game, takes him to two deuces, but still loses her serve and doesn’t mind.  How appropriate on the day of his return, his return breaks her serve.  He’s returned, and he's left his job, what might come next?

At their water break, Davie pulls a sheet from his pocket and holds it up.  “My resignation letter.”  He opens it and begins reading. “Jesus said spirituality is simple.  Love God and your neighbor as yourself.  That’s it.  But we pastors complicate it with rules and doctrines just like the religious leaders Jesus condemned.”

“You’re the pastor people need,” Jasmine says quietly.  “And you’re leaving.”

Davie casts his eyes down with sadness, then returns to his letter.  “But maybe what Jesus said is not that simple.  How ‘simple’ is it to love ‘God’ when you don't know who ‘God’ is?  And how can we love our neighbor before we’ve learned to love ourselves?  And can we love ourselves before we know ourselves?”

“Most people don’t ask those questions.”

Davie replies that’s something he really admires about Jasmine.  She does.  He’s starting to, and said so in the letter, quoting a phrase he’s heard, “You can't know who you are until you find out who you are not.” 

“I’m starting to learn who I am not,” he reads.  “I am not a pastor.  I am the son of a pastor, who wanted me to carry on his occupation, one that involves preaching doctrines I don’t believe.”

 “What don’t you believe?”

With a smile, Davie says he almost put that in but refrained.  He doesn’t believe in Original Sin, in a God who kills, in hell, nor, looking up at Jasmine, he adds, “You’ll like this one, a ‘Rapture’ or people ‘Left Behind.’”

Jasmine laughs, recalling their jokes of bumper stickers on Noah’s Ark, satires on those like “If the Rapture comes tonight, where will you go?” or “In case of Rapture, this car will be de-manned.”  They could be mad, but instead they take to humor.  Davie quotes one of their satires: “If the Flood comes tonight, will you float or drown?”  Jasmine holds her tummy, laughing as she did that night. 

Davie chuckles with her, then returns to the end of his letter. “I could also list my grievances for injustices, but they no longer matter.  They led me to what does matter.  I don't know who I am and I need to find out.”

“That’s big.  I’m also starting to find out for myself,” Jasmine replies.  “Grievances?”

“You.  Kicking you out of church for our kiss.  I kissed you, and they kicked you out.  ‘What Would Jesus Really Do?’ Not that.”

Jasmine blushes.  Davie stuck up for her, even quit his job.  Attired in the wonder woman shirt and skirt from their friends, it seems she’s wearing the wonder she feels.  He places a ball into Jasmine’s palm, while touching the top of her hand beneath.  “Time to play.”

This time, Jasmine holds her serve, perhaps because he lets her or perhaps because she doesn’t care whether she wins or loses.  After seven months apart from Davie and now divorced -- barely, but divorced -- she most wants to hear more from him.  Davie must feel it too, as he lingers with her at their next water break.

“I finally had to make my own choices,” Davie tells Jasmine, shifting into his bigger change.  Not only did he let his parents decide his career for him, he also let Pam decide for him who he would date.  In college, he wanted to date Pam’s friend Jenny, but since Pam was pursuing him, he found it easier to date Pam than ask Jenny out. 

Shaking his head at his laziness, he admits he might have been hiding behind his rational exterior, not yet aware of what he really felt or longed for in a wife.  He looks upward.  “Did you know that Greek has multiple words for the English word ‘love.’” 

Jasmine nods.  Her eyes are inquisitive over his change of subject.  Davie says he finds it ironic the New Testament was written in Greek, but its many words for the concepts of love all get translated into a single word in English.  “Greek has a word for unconditional love like a parent for a child.”

“Agape,” Jasmine smiles.

“Right.” Davie beams, unsurprised she’s aware of these Greek words.  “And one for friendship.”

“Phileo.”

            “And one for affection.”

“Eros.”

Davie nods, smiling. “You can will yourself to agape or phileo love anyone.  But you can’t will yourself into or out of eros.”

The church wouldn’t like this perspective, Jasmine thinks.  Too inconvenient. But true. 

“Affection comes to you,” Davie continues.  “You don’t ask for it.  You can’t will it to come, and you can’t will it to leave.”

Even more inconvenient.  Jasmine chuckles to herself that Davie thinks at odds too.  Maybe that’s what “thinking at odds” really is: thinking what’s inconvenient, but true.  Or at least valid.  People don’t like what’s inconvenient, but if they can’t offer a defense, they’ll either ignore you or mock you.

Jasmine asks if he’s shared any of this with the church leaders.  He has, but they confuse affection with lust because sexual desire is usually intertwined with it.  “But lust is fleeting,” he adds.  “If affection stands the test of time, you can’t call it lust.”

Jasmine coaches her quick-pumping heart to slow down.  Their bond has withstood the test of time. “Lust is superficial,” she says.  “Affection is real.”  His eyes on her suggest he agrees, but for the church to believe it would be a tall order.

“I willed myself to love Pam unconditionally and in friendship.”  Davie pauses.  “But I can’t will myself to love her in affection.”

This conversation is getting heavier, Jasmine thinks and asks whether Davie would like to head to The Alley, Glendale’s sports bar, early.  He smiles, nods, and calls out to the other players to meet later at The Alley, where he and Jasmine are now heading.  They walk up the stairs in silence, find a booth, and thank the server for the water she brings them.  Jasmine takes a sip and asks how Pam feels. 

Davie takes a deep breath.  He finally mustered the courage to tell his wife how he had let her lead him into marriage, despite what his heart had most longed for, and to hear this was very hard on her.  She feels all three of the Greek forms of love for the man she thought she married.

“Thought she married?” Jasmine wants to be sure she heard that right.

She did.  In marriage counseling, Pam came to discover the Davie she wanted was the one he was pretending to be, but not who he really is.   Davie pauses.  “She also doesn't want to be married to a man whose heart is with someone else.”

Jasmine’s heart flutters.  Davie adds he can’t go backward and change his previous choices, but he can go forward now, especially before he has children.  “It’s time now to make my own choices.”

“You need to choose for yourself,” Jasmine replies, connecting their stories, “and I need to think for myself.”  She reminds him she was mocked for “thinking at odds,” so she started letting her family, and then Tim, think for her.  Mimicking Davie’s statement, she says “It’s time now to think on my own again.”

“You don’t think like the church,” Davie smiles.  “That’s one reason why I love you.”

Jasmine’s heart stops.

“Jazzie, BD hinted to me that you and Tim may be splitting up.  I don’t want to interfere with your marriage or wherever you are in your process, but if you ever become available—”

Jasmine lifts up her left hand.  Her ring finger is bare.

Davie lifts his too.  His fingers are also bare.  He takes her left hand into his, clasps it, and gives Jasmine’s hand a gentle squeeze.  Jasmine’s heart flushes hot.

Jasmine shares her own discoveries of her husband Tim like a rock, while she is more likea ball rolling down the hill further away from him.  Their marriage counselor had encouraged them to create a “truly new new,” but she came to realize Tim was an authentic rock, a good one, and she could never come into her own true self with him. 

“With Tim, I’m stuck.  With you, I thrive.”

            “With you, I thrive too,” Davie smiles.  “You’re willing to ask hard questions, to get mad at God when He’s not fair, and keep pressing until you find the answers.  You will put your life on the line to reach for that forbidden fruit: the knowledge of God.”

Davie grins, “You’re just like Eve.”

No one could have paid her a finer complement.

Return to Davie's Return, Part 1

Return to Jasmine's most recent discoveries

Follow Davie's story, starting here 

© 2022 by Karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use with permission and/or a link to this blog post.

Davie's Return, Part 1

Dear readers, welcome to the conclusion of Just like Eve (the first of the two-part conclusion).  If you are joining this series now, you can read an overview, or start at the beginning, or at Jasmine's recent discoveries with her friends, or if you'd like to read the story from Davie's point of view, you can start with the first of Davie's three selections and follow the links for Davie's portions from there.

September 27, 2012, Glendale Racquet Club, Colorado Springs, CO 

"Jazzy in that new skirt, Jazzie!" Gabbie winks at Jasmine, as she enters the yoga room at Glendale Racquet Club where the friends warm up before their mixed doubles tennis.

"Jazzier than I felt last week," Jasmine winks back with a chuckle to Gabbie and Kristina, the two masterminds of the previous week’s surprise.  Not only are these friends Jasmine and Mindy’s favorite opponents for women’s doubles, but they also play Mixed Doubles Night, where they are now.  Gabbie and Kristina had been rooting Jasmine on to independence.  Today, she is three weeks single.  That’s her term.  Others call her divorced.

After playing mixed doubles last week, the friends made their way, as usual, up the stairs to Glendale's sports bar, The Alley.  Located above the office and the restrooms, the Alley provides booths to the left, tables in the center, the bar with its barstools to the right, and three large screen TVs.  When Jasmine entered The Alley, she found the center tables pulled together into the full, long one set up for the Mixed Doubles Night players, as usual, but the table was not set as usual.  At the center were a bouquet of tulips and gold balloons floating above of the flowers, along with a single balloon in black.  Staring at them, especially the black one, Jasmine wondered what the special occasion was. 

Seeing Jasmine’s confusion, Kristina put her hand on Jasmine’s arm.  “Gold for power and black because it’s also okay to be sad.”

Gold for power?  Whose power?  Jasmine wondered whether any of their favored tennis players was known for the color of gold, and if a tennis tournament was happening that she wasn’t aware of.  Or could the many gold balloons represent hope for a win and a single black one represent acceptance over a loss?

Looking for clues, Jasmine glanced over to the big screen TVs set to ESPN, but they were showing two lively commentators in big earphones and quick cuts to baseball replays.  Jasmine whispered to Mindy, who chuckled and announced to everyone that Jasmine wanted to know if the balloons were for a tennis tournament.  Did Mindy have to blurt that out? 

"No Girl!" Gabbie grinned, "This is your divorce party!"

Divorce party? Do people do that?   Other than her tennis friends, everyone has responded to Jasmine’s news with either sympathy or judgment, all supposing she must be grieved over a “failed” marriage.  Jasmine doesn’t see it that way.  She learned much from her marriage, still cares about Tim, and knows she made the right choice.  Still, her emotions run through a mixture of grief from the past and joy for the future.  Her grief is less for what people think -- the loss of Tim -- and more for the years she let her family and then her husband draw her away from what matters most: her own compassionate and intuitive nature that thinks at odds. 

As Kristina handed Jasmine a gift bag, also in gold, Jasmine looked inquisitively over to her best friend Mindy.

"I'll be surprised as you,” Mindy chuckled, shaking her head. “I just got you a card."

Jasmine pulled out a gold headband crown with a red star, a red sleeveless athletic shirt, a navy blue tennis skirt, and tennis ball band for her waist, in gold.  How did they find a ball band in gold?  Smiling in pride, Kristina lifted a piece of the gold ribbon she sewed on to the ball band.  "See, all you'll need to do is take a seam ripper to the ribbon, and you've got a new tennis band."

With a hearty nod, Jasmine promised she would, and lifted the clothes up.  “Wonder Woman?”

“Wonder Woman with a real shirt, a real skirt, and not a bathing suit,” Gabbie winked.

“And no stars on the skirt!” Kristina laughed.

“Or gold cups for your boobs!” Gabbie exclaimed, adding that they were keeping Jasmine in the 21^st century: classy, not a sex object.

Still, with the crown and ball band in gold, Jasmine felt sheepish.  She'll have to pass that booth of racquetball guys, while wearing a crown and a ball band in the conspicuous color of gold? Her friends say gold represents her power, but Jasmine has spent years in hiding.  Mocked for thinking at odds, she’s learned silence and modesty.  Was she ready to emerge as a Wonder Woman in gold?

Seeing her friend’s hesitation, Mindy shared with Jasmine what she most admires about her.  “You are a woman filled with wonder.  Now spin yourself into Wonder Woman!”  Mindy is blessed with a mouth so full she still has her wisdom teeth.  How could Jasmine resist a smile that fills her best friend’s whole face?  Or a gift so clever?  Taking a deep breath, Jasmine coached herself into power. You can do this, Jasmine.  Step into your power.  Do as Lynda Carter: transform yourself from ordinary to powerful. Spin yourself into Wonder Woman!

While walking down the stairs to the restroom to dawn her new attire, Jasmine also reflected on her friends’ sensitivity.   Since her family and most of her other friends thought she should have only one emotion – grief -- she had wondered whether her tennis friends would also think she should have only one emotion -- joy.  But these friends had included a black balloon, told her it was okay to be sad, and still helped her celebrate.  They not only let her think at odds, they also let her feel at odds.

 

Now, a week later, Jasmine is grateful to be wearing the new tennis skirt, athletic shirt, ball band in its proper color of black, and nothing in gold.  She’s proud of her new power, but she also likes another truth of Wonder Woman: the ability to step back into normal life as a normal woman.  All superheroes are like that.  Most of the time, they blend into ordinary life, appearing as no one special, and Jasmine realizes they probably like it that way.  She does too.

Jasmine finishes stretching and joins the others now milling in a circle at the center of the yoga room.  Steve glances at his watch, casts his eyes around the circle, counting the players, and announces, “It's perfectly seven and we have a perfect eight” – so perfectly Steve, in his steel-rimmed glasses, who spends his days crunching numbers as an accountant.  Then he adds, “even a perfect four mixed doubles teams.”

BD extends his arm toward Jasmine, palm up, offering himself as her partner.  He had never been so chivalrous before.  Jasmine is honored, but curious.  They’ve been regularly partnering together at Mixed Doubles Night for seven months, ever since youth pastor Davie was told by his church to quit coming after his kiss with Jasmine.  BD is Davie’s best friend, in spite of and probably because of, BD’s differences from everyone else Davie had grown up with.  The oldest son of a pastor of a white, conservative, evangelical church, Davie had been groomed into the pastorate himself and the culture that accompanies it.  Tennis had been Davie’s escape, the one place where he could hit hard his strokes and slam dunk his overheads.  In time, with BD’s help, he even learned how to curse, swear, and spit.  BD, African American, is a baseball player first, tennis player second, and it was at his first sport where he had learned how to spit really good.  But now, enjoying himself so much at Mixed Doubles Night, he sometimes teases that he might make tennis his primary sport, if everyone else learns how to spit and they buy him enough beers.

The week after Davie’s departure, BD told Jasmine about Davie’s request that BD step in as Jasmine’s new mixed doubles partner.  He said he had promised Davie he would, if she also agreed to it, and added his reply over the church’s order that Davie quit coming: "You church people are cracked up!"  Jasmine was charmed by BD’s "cracked up" assessment, appreciated Davie’s attempt to look out for her, and took in her new mixed doubles partner gladly.

“You’re still Wonder Woman,” BD said to Jasmine as she accepted his palm.  “You serve first.”  BD usually served first, and usually at Jasmine’s request.  If their Mixed Doubles group had been competitive, BD would always serve first.  The server has the advantage, and that’s why players flip their racquets before play to decide on the serve.  Your goal is to “hold” your serve and “break” your opponent’s.  In competitive mixed doubles, the female needs to be a wonder woman because the opponents are working hard to keep the ball away from her partner that she has her work cut out for her.  In a tight set, the first server in doubles will serve twice, and the second server once.  If the physically stronger male partner serves first, he can more easily put those opponents on defense and hold his two serves.  But Glendale’s Mixed Doubles Night is casual and doesn’t carry this competitive edge.  All players serve first sometimes, including Jasmine, but she’s modest and usually gives the first serve to her partner.  Tonight, BD insists, and she agrees.

But first, the two of them, and their opponents, Steve and Kristina, need to meet at the net to flip their racquets.  As they are walking toward the net, Jasmine wishes it was Davie by her side, feels her heart flush hot for him, and reflects on the journal she wrote on forbidden love.  Has she reached "acceptance?"  If she has, "acceptance" looks quite different than what she had anticipated.  It’s not about "getting over" a forbidden love -- she will always love Davie -- it’s about embracing the love within herself.  Now that Davie has shown her how loveable she is and how much she can delight in thinking at odds, Jasmine has found a joy and a love within herself even in Davie’s absence.  She still longs for him, still loves him and always will, but she has landed upon an “acceptance” that feels unlike anything she had expected.

Like her attire from ordinary to wonder woman, Jasmine’s longing has also been transformed. She no longer longs as an ordinary woman who needs, but as a woman of wonder who surrenders.  Through the test of forbidden love, where love cannot control, where love must release every day, Jasmine has discovered a love without attachment, a love capable of letting go, a love that surrenders, filled with wonder.

It's a love like that poster at Gabbie’s apartment, the one that shows a strong horse in deep brown with a mane blowing in the wind, galloping through a field on a bright blue day, that says, “If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it is yours.”  The type of love depicted in that poster is considered by many to be the hardest type of love.  But, Jasmine muses, isn't there a love that is even harder? What if the something you love you never had to begin with?  What if you have to release every day what you never had but could?  Don’t people say, “It's better to love and lose than to never love at all”?  In that case, wouldn’t the love that releases something it could have but doesn’t be an even harder form of love?

Gazing ahead, as if in a trance, Jasmine confirms to herself that she has learned the hardest type of love, and it is this love that has brought her into the deepest type, the love within herself.

 

Kristina is now standing next to Jasmine on Jasmine’s side of the net, muttering, “Speak of the devil.”  How is Kristina standing here?  Didn’t I just see her on the other side of the net, about to flip her racquet?  Jasmine had not realized how deep in thought she had been.  “Oh, sorry, I guess I shouldn’t say ‘devil,’” Kristina chuckled.

BD, in a voice bold, deep, and victorious, fully breaks Jasmine’s trance.  "It looks like we no longer have a perfect eight!"

Jasmine sees her partner glancing over to the corner of the furthest away back court, raising his arm high with a thumbs up.

A surprise is leaning against the wall, with one foot crossed over the other leg, the casual stance of a figure who belongs right where he is.

Davie.

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Continue to Davie's Return, Part 2

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