blue sky green sea

The title of this post is the title of one of the books that has remained with me over time, by Liu Sola. I think it speaks so particularly well to the coming-of-age artist, and as such, speaks a lot about process, which I think we are not exempt from even as we mature.
Today I have been thinking of those experiences one would rather not have been exposed to. These can be confused conversations with acquaintances, a bad day, work that seems to go nowhere - fill in the blank for your own example.
As I was thinking of my own most recent example, it occurred to me that perhaps these experiences bear no lessons in themselves, but sometimes exist in order to hammer us out for other experiences. Sometimes our imperfect nature requires an experience that will help us return to our core and more firmly define who we are in goodness.
Sometimes, we are exposed to other people's fear. The situations that unfold are not of our own making, but we can be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Fear manifests itself in so many different ways. It can look like judgement, it can become deaf - it usually wants one to respond in fear to it. So, the hammering out is in knowing how to forgive, how to move on, how to let go. And this, in turn, brings the space for the "hello" that we seek with each new dawn: the love of those who are able to give it.
Once upon a time, I had a marvelous internet pen pal who helped me through a difficult time. Somehow, my questions to her site about Native American culture led to a dialogue about love. Sometimes I come back to the notes that I took from her letters. Hold the intent of love in your heart; try to make every thought about love, she wrote. Everything happens for a loving reason.
If we hold that understanding up to whichever experience that comes our way, we shall see it for ourselves, and we will rejoice. Crede ut intelligas, writes Burke.
In Liu Sola's story, "In Search of the King of Singers" she writes: Bury the burial ground, don't let it bury you. There are some things that really don't need to be talked about further - or even in detail. Some things are meant to be allowed to settle deep into the heart of the earth, where they will be broken down into nutrients for flowers.
The modern fixation with staring the ugly in the face is yet another form of extremity that is unhelpful. The story is really about love, not whether one has the urge to uncover one's eyes in the face of that which is not a lesson unto itself, but a test of our intent. Such writes Emily Dickinson (XVII):

Who has not found the heaven below
   Will fail of it above.
God's residence is next to mine,
   His furniture is love.

Elements: needlework and paper; brocade.