Marta Luzim’s Writing the Wave: Beyond the Love She Seeks

I swear, the earth will surely be complete to him and her who shall be complete. Earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains jagged and broken. Inside I feel the edges of thorns that silently prick away at my soul. I am challenged to find a new light, a new avenue to see the God of delight in my every sight.

I gaze down at the earth and see cracks and pieces of leaves left over from weather change and erosion. How do you feel complete when around the corner is the unknown, the mystery of death. Yet, I die every day to something new in me. A new way of seeing my body, not something to pound away at to fit into my clothes, the way it feels, smells and sees. The skin on my hand, it’s veins stare at me, blue and pulsing, that is life in me. The way my husband sighs, the way the air smells of oranges, the way the woman holding a water bottle still seems dehydrated. What are we hiding from? We are mortal, but want to live forever as souls forever young and alive new born, children running and playing in the ocean.
Some can sit on a plane that is hitting horrendous turbulence and say, “I am in Jesus hands. I am in God’s hands.”

I cannot be in God’s hands with such surrender. So I cling to life in a way that strangles the life out of it. At times afraid to go forward in case I die. Because I think that if I let go, all the unfinished life yet to live is over. They ask, “Don’t you believe in an after-life?” I do, and then who cares? I am only first beginning to learn to love in this life. I have so much to learn about love. Love is so complex; fragmented, holy, fierce and wounded. My heart pumps throughout this life crying, yearning, drinking every last bit of its tigress pull of thunderous energy. Life is not placid for me. Although outside my window frames swaying palms, tiger lilies and buzzing sounds of the night. Inside my body, I walk a jungle, dark, roars of unfriendly terrain under my feet. Step by step, wondering if quick sand will suck me under. Each moment stressed with exciting terror that washes away all complacency and beliefs that I might for one second know or understand why I am here. I live life awakening in each moment, learning how to be here without reservation. As wise Indian teacher asked, “Why are we here?” He answered his own question, “To be alive.”

My outside does not reflect my insides unless I sit very still and never move out of the spot I sit in, smell the Febreeze in my sheets and the garlic from my stove. Then I am safe. Only when a hurricane approaches do my insides match my outsides. I don’t know what it means not to be jagged. I know moments when I am thrilled just be alive. Life is for me is the Olam Tikkum, the Hebrew purpose to mend a broken world. I step on the jagged pieces and breathe. The earth pierces the soles of feet. I look up and see the sky with its omnipresent clouds and I wonder, how is this life such a paradox?

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