Expelling Fragments

I can't believe I'm still shedding glass. I kicked out another shard today, this one from my leg. I suppose this is in line with my general impression, namely that I am nearly done processing the accident (physically , at least). It is just the funniest thing, dear reader, to find that what you thought was a pimple was really a little piece of broken glass slowly working its way out through your pores. And it is appropriate, while I'm evicting tiny pieces of windshield, to let a few incomplete thoughts out as well:
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Fragment:
Where the hell is Susi? Both of her phones are disconnected, and she doesn't respond to emails. I am on the verge of driving up to Minnesota to check on her. Of course, I know that when I get there, I'll simply find that she has become overwhelmed in her life and withdrawn from the very people who are most able to help her--namely Sherri and I. Unacceptable.

And, while I'm at it, where is the brother of my soul, John? I wish he knew how much I love him, and how much energy I put into wishing the best for him.

Fragment:
I'm listening to my Ipod as I write this, and I think it may be trying to tell me something. I have it on random play (I love random sequences of song) and two songs in a row have set off little flags in my consciousness. For one, I have always felt that, for some reason, when the one is about to appear, I will hear the song "There Won't be Trumpets" from Anyone Can Whistle. That very song just popped up out of 2,237 songs, which itself is enough to make me pay attention. Then, on its heels, came "Please Send Me Someone to Love" by George Michael, also anticipating the approach of someone wonderful. And now, even as I write, Puccini sings to me, "In poverta mia lieta scialo da gran signore rime ed inni d'amore . . . Talor dal mio forziere ruban tutti i gioelli due ladri gli occhi belli!" I leave it to those of you who speak Italian to figure out why that is perfect.

Fragment:
I have, for some time, been trying to find some appropriate way to address the divine. To simply pray to "God" or "Lord," as though he was an anonymous title, seems to disavow her personality and his investment in our lives. To pray to "Jesus," on the other hand, is inaccurate as well; Christ is only one reflection of the Divine, as clear and as inspiring as that reflection is. Emerson faced a similar dilemma, and his thoughts are revealing:

"Fortune, Minerva, Holy Ghost,--these are quaint names, too narrow to cover this unbounded substance. The baffled intellect must still kneel before this cause, which refuses to be named,--ineffable cause, which every fine genius has essayed to represent by some emphatic symbol, as Thales, by water, Anaximenes by air, Anaxagoras by thought, Zoroaster by fire, Jesus and the moderns by love; and the metaphor of each has become a national religion . . . In our more correct writing we give to this generalization the name of Being, and thereby confess that we have arrived as far as we can go" (Experience).

But Ralph is only partly right. The dilemma, as he and I both understand, is to combine the universal with the personal without creating a fatuous paradox, to blend "Tao" with "Allah" and thereby express the impossible truth that I am existence even though I worship it as though it was outside myself. It turns out that I have a leg up on Ralph here, for I was from my youth taught that God has a personal name, and that it is JEHOVAH. I am almost tempted, in deference to my personal baggage, to resist the usage of this name and substitute, instead, YAHWEH. But I choose to embrace the power the name JEHOVAH has over me, never failing to make me shiver when spoken. And here is the inexpressible beauty: JEHOVAH is Hebrew for exactly that which Emerson felt was the ultimate expression of God: Being. In fact, some scholars think that JEHOVAH means "I AM," "I WAS," and "I SHALL CAUSE TO BE" simultaneously, depending on the (now lost to time) pronunciation. JEHOVAH is, therefore, the perfect blending of the universal and the personal, of the nature of Being. Take that, Ralph. I've finally got one up on you.

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I feel better now that I've passed those thought-fragments out of my system and on to you. Enjoy!