Damaged goods...

For some reason I decided to watch the documentary Marwencol (1) last night. 

I was ready to turn it off once it got bad, but it has this element about it that you just have to keep watching, as bizarre as it appears at first, you just keep watching.

The documentary is about Mark Hogancamp and his particular method of rehabilitation after being nearly beat to death outside of a bar one night. He was in a coma for nine days and lost the ability to pretty much do anything along with all his memories of who he used to be.

The big oddity, of course, being that he creates a fantasy world of dolls set in WWII Belgium, and he uses all of it to create and document stories that in turn help him process his life.

But as I'm watching I just get more entangled in this fascination in his struggle - maybe it's because the metaphor is different than I'm used, but he has the universal struggle of Everyman - brokenness and wanting to find the cure, if such a thing exists, and in some part, accepting that brokenness as part of one's own uniqueness.

I couldn't help but think more about my own brokenness; more about why it is that some people's presence makes me feel utterly exposed and why I even care about being exposed. I kept thinking about this line I heard concerning a movie or book; some story: "We accept the love we think we deserve." (2)

We accept the love we think we deserve

I think we're all like this Mark Hogancamp guy; once we've gotten to the still and quiet, in the great darkness of an extant existence, of being separate from each, really separate.

My verse writing professor once said in class:

If you're walking and holding hands with someone and you think - Hey, maybe he, or she, isn't thinking what I'm thinking - then maybe you might be ready for a relationship...

And so here we are, weird, like this Mark guy, broken, like this Mark guy, and hoping, just like this Mark guy, that maybe, maybe we can find our place in this universe that doesn't make a whole lot of sense and where more often than not, we aren't the dashing and valiant princes or the beautiful princesses worthy of rescue and love.

There's probably some theistic ponderings I could make here; but I think the Beauty of God is that you have moments, and one shouldn't rush to find the explanation. There's time for that. And even if there isn't, that's okay, too. Take your moment, while you can... 

The saddest part of a moment is your awareness of if, because that's the beginning of the end of it...

My old verse writing professor again...

Wherever it is that you are, I hope you can make it one more day to see the sunrise.

I hope I can make it, too.

Now I'm going to go and listen to Christmas music. Ben Rector's Auld Lang Syne is about to be on repeat.

  1. Information on these websites: http://www.marwencol.com/ and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marwencol
  2. I looked it up, it's from "The Perks of Being a Wallflower", a novel by Stephen Chomsky, the quote is from page 27, as annotated here: http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/The_Perks_of_Being_a_Wallflower

Posted on November 27, 2012 and filed under Moments, Letter.