Wednesday, July 10, 2013


It’s funny how idiosyncrasies strike me as life lessons--maybe I’m protecting myself against the harshness of reality by locking on to simple things, ways of grasping the all-too-real. I’m glad to have a trusted group of friends with whom I can discuss the ins and outs of the spirit which I know moves me. A recent topic was patience, and long-suffering that comes with it, sometimes, as fruits of the Spirit. (In a way, patience isn’t something you can develop all on your own--it’s a gift to pray for, meditate on.)

The stutter start of life’s transitions has become a source for me of great frustration and doubt, tests of my will. At best these become bumps in the road, at worst real detractors that present an unearthing, a recreating that can be painful, mostly because what you’d hoped for yourself can get pulled up with the weeds, and patience becomes a required element to be able to step back and look at what to do, what the next step is.

The discussion brought to mind a seemingly incongruous technological snafu, one I know many deal with anyhow: not being able to access something on your computer that normally you could. After going back and forth with tech support, the answer was obvious: clear your cache.


In humans we develop this memory that stores in layers and senses and emotions, that we can access in so many different ways. Computers have this auxiliary ability, and a cache, by definition, is actually about the inaccessibility or hiddenness in the storage. And I’d forgotten, as I do, how to tap into that, how to care for the spiritual gifts I’ve been given (or how to find the darn clear history button on my computer!). It would be nice if human suffering were this easy to deal with: remove the past, move forward with the future. Deal with hopes and dreams achieved or dashed with the click of a button.

It’s not necessarily that easy, but thankfully others can prod our memory and our better selves into perspective. That’s not to say I don’t still struggle with not being able to access that patience, to deal with harsh reality, but I seek to surround myself with those things which will help me pull through. Reboot. Make space for new memories and sensations and emotions, and voilà! You have access. To something bigger, something more beautiful. Or at least the webpage you were expecting.

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