Unknown Hopi carver:
Owa-nganroro [Mad Stone Eater Kachina],
(c. 1900, First Mesa, Arizona)

"Grace exclusively works in such mysterious ways."

As the Seasonal Affective Fog lifts, ReEntry emerges from the shadows. The exit had not been deliberate but mere side-effect. The resulting absence seems anything but profound. The symptoms typically linger. I'm always uncertain when to consider any bout over. I'll typically try ReEntry a tad too soon and feel rebuffed, but the sun still reliably comes up every morning, giving just as many second chances as necessary. Sometimes, I require a dozen second chances to finally find my traction. By then, I'm as thoroughly disgusted with myself as I can imagine, though should I fail at ReEntry that morning, I'll find an opportunity to better my recent record.

I am nobody's prodigal son. Nor am I anybody's returning hero. I've vanquished only minor dragons, if any, and I never feel ready to share my story. I prefer a ReEntry affected through the bathroom window, the entry point of choice for all true adventurers who seem just as uncertain of where they're going as where they've been. We do not Re-Enter with renewed vision or passion but rather with a true embarrassment of debits rather than riches. We prefer to ReEnter unnoticed, slipping into our pew without disturbing the service. We do not need to explain what happened. We do not know what transpired. Let's agree that nobody knows and nobody needs to understand. If we can, please continue as if nothing happened— if only because nothing happened—I might manage to reestablish a familiar rhythm. There was no actual action to populate any after-action reporting.

ReEntry seems a secret proceeding, one unblemished by procedures. I swear it's different every time; a dance step inevitably initiated on the wrong foot. The cadence should seem unsettling, I've decided, because it's just that little bit different every time, never the same way once. It seems best accomplished privately, even though interested bystanders always stand nearby. I've acquiesced in the past and attempted to explain what just happened, never with much success. If I knew, I might be able to tell the story, but I haven't figured out the experience yet and might well never come to understand myself. The purpose of the disruption might only emerge long after the disruption no longer remembers, so it's unimportant, not quite worth the effort anyone might exert failing to expressing it. ReEntry demands a slinking entrance, accomplished without explicit stage direction. That actor just seems to reappear without explanation. Let the performance continue as if nobody noticed.

Of course, everyone notices, particularly the actor. His ego might take a slight bruising from nobody noticing, even though everyone notices. The protocol of ReEntry requires just this dance, just such a performance, and everyone involved more or less understands. The public secret might seem worth mentioning and might even demand some explicit forgiveness, but it demands silence louder. Not everyone listens, so not everyone hears. It’s a genuine blessing when almost everyone remains mute. In a few short days—and the subsequent days will feel uncommonly short—the recently misbegotten will be thoroughly forgotten, and the world will continue, little wiser for the detour. Seasonal Affective Disruptions might fully qualify as Grace, for they inevitably arrive unbidden to undermine pre-existing expectations so others might emerge. They might come from an overabundance of unchanging conditions before inducing the disruptions needed but otherwise inaccessible. This necessary service comes at the cost of some embarrassment and, as I said, without much in the way of explanation. Make of that whatever you will. Grace exclusively works in such mysterious ways.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Grace, #PureSchmaltz