I am still most unclear on what to do regarding my balancing act. I’m juggling six balls; it’s proven I can manage five but will the last make the whole thing tumble? Or can I trust myself to rise to the challenge?
(Can I trust God’s strength and make it my own? Is it fair to rely on A and boom? Their sacrifices grow as I devote my attention to managing the whole shebang. Is my go go go lifestyle hurting the bean?)
Things are clear when it is just me. Things are also quite lonely. When it’s me and the people I love, the mirrors of caritas and the brilliant light that shines forth dazzles me, confuses me. This question of isolation and community has dogged me throughout my days. I had always chosen the former: whether it was declining birthday party invitations or making myself physically ill to avoid crowded celebrations, reading in the library during lunch hours or creating a sunshiney facade to deflect deep friendships, I was an island. It continued until my senior year in college: the year I wrote about the congretory behaviors of bosons and fermions, and the year I wrote to A and he wrote to me.
Bosons (no, not bison) tore me apart; how could a multitude of objects occupy the same exact state? How can limitless, identical objects reside in a single point in spacetime? Nay, a single point in state space? Our basic tenants of science say this mystery is true, is real, is the driving characteristic of force and light and, dare I say, spirit.
The sensible fermions keep to themselves. No one may touch the other, no two are twins. Like a well-spaced grid on a Euclidean plane, they are forever separated. In collision, do they meet? Does one come to know another’s essence?
The world would fall apart if fermions were the sole constituents. The world would not have glorious structure if bosons piled willy nilly. Bosons mediate fermions; fermions ignite bosons.
With this day, with our time, everything is at peace. Work on the couch, boom in my lap, A by my side. Northside and the warm/cool fall day warmed and cooled my thoughts and heart. “Every little thing will be alright.”
I squatted #95 EMOM 12 minutes. I was shooting for half an hour. Lots of strength to rebuild; lots of form to polish.