A Tale of Two Worlds

Today I went to the American embassy in Sofia to get my paperwork processed in order to be legally able to marry in Bulgaria. When we drove up across the building and I saw the state seal, and the American flag flying, I got strangely excited. Peace Corps has been invited to several embassy events, but me trailing the usual antisocial baggage that I do, I did not attend. I did not expect to get such a little thrill from seeing the carefully enclosed ground that is, for all intents and purposes, an extension of my "homeland." It rippled through me, strait down to my belly. We parked, walked along the icy street and arrived at the door only 2 minutes late. I was antsy. My strong need to be on time, which kicks in when I am 1) doing official, legal, state business or 2) hanging out with Americans, kicked into overdrive as I was about to do official business among Americans. But, by the time we checked in, and had to wait for another five minutes outside of the security room, I had settled.
We went in. We were asked to remove our jackets and all things metal, and to leave any electronics at the front desk. After passing through a metal detector we were ushered by a security guard towards the citizen services building. At the front desk we were again asked our names and looked up on the computer. We were then sent to the cashier to pay the fee. I think I got some sort of discount for being in Peace Corps because the marriage form was supposed to be 75 dollars. I was going to pay in lev until I saw the exchange rate and the kind gentleman helping us suggested that we pay with an American credit card, which I had luckily brought with me. We then went to another desk where a man appeared to know what we needed and who we were and was very helpful answering questions about emigration and marriage. There was another five minutes of waiting while he prepared our document and then I met with a very nice, enthusiastic vice-consular to sign my document and get it stamped. In less than an hour I was back at the front desk, picking up my electronics and smiling from all of the warm congratulations.
After the American embassy we had to stop by the Bulgarian ministry of the exterior to get the document legalized for Bulgaria. Now, I realize that I should not compare the two, and that offices within the United States are not as nearly warm and efficient as what I experienced here. However, the difference between the two places was just too hilarious to not mention. We arrived at the ministry and we were greeted by a guard outside. When we explained what we were there for he began to explain our options for collection of our documents and told us that we would have to go to a post office to pay for the service and then return. However, he noticed a group of older women inside and instead ushered us inside. There he asked if any of the women (who I assume must have been notaries) had extra stamps that they could sell us. One did, and so we bought 20 lev worth of stamps to attach to our documents. We filled out a form and took it to the cashier but were told we would need more stamps to do a rush service on our document. We returned to the older women who provided us with more stamps and showed us how to properly attach them, and then looked over our forms to make sure we had checked the correct boxes. We then gave the form back, were given a receipt and told to return tomorrow.
Both places were exceptionally warm today. I think that doing paperwork for marriage is somehow more heartwarming than any other type of paperwork. However, the warmth at the two different places was somehow very different, and it is hard for me to touch why. It was something to do with formality but not necessarily about professionalism. Perhaps it was something to do with the modernism found in the American embassy contrasted with paying through stamps at the Bulgarian ministry.
Well, two countries down and now only one more country to get our status as legally married recognizable. Life is interesting these days. 

My Salvation

I used to be emo. Not simply emotional, but dramatic about it to the point that I could have cut off more than half the word and said it in a single exhaled monotone. I could have, if the word had been popular back in my day, but it wasn't, and so I didn't. I wasn't "goth." Well, not on any given day. There were twinges of black mesh, glitter, and leather collars that peppered my wardrobe, but it was not anything nearing a statement. I attended Paris, the RHPS. My friends were goth, for sure. I, as usual, kind of just was. I wasn't "was" in the apathetic way that most adults thought teenagers were. I "was" in a completely tender, overwhelmed, excited, bursting, awe-filled way that just forgot to conform to societal roles and labels. A little emo girl stuck in jeans and a t-shirt without any eye-liner. How tragic.

Looking back on my emo tendencies the event that rises as most potent took place when I was 20, living in Tucson. I was at a guy's house. I don't remember his name. Although he filled an interesting role in my pivoting life he, himself, wasn't particular important to me. I remember that he lived up north, off the freeway, in an apartment with a roommate. I don't remember how I met this guy, I don't remember how many times we hung out, or what we actually did. What I do remember, very clearly, was that his living room was dark. All the light was shut out even at mid day, and for some breakup, (his or mine, or maybe his roommate's) Evanescence, "My Imortal" was always playing in the background. Now, I still think that "My Imortal," is a great song. Beautiful voice, good composition etc. But back then I thought that it was more than great. I thought that it was IMPORTANT. I sat there, in that dark room that smelled of single boys, the three of us nursing broken hearts together, and I agreed that this song was the epiphany of the year. Even as I agreed I found it tediously overplayed by the boys, and I got up out of that room, into the bright sunlight and left. What I did later that day is a quite different story.

I have come a long way since thinking that Evanescence was IMPORTANT. I really thought that Istanbul was meant to be my salvation. I thought that I was destined to be dragged back into the divine comedy that is emo-land. I thought that I would tear and bleed, and rip at life.

Instead I made a choice. It was the best choice of my life. The drama is done, packed away for the days of nostalgic writing and moments of artistic inspiration. Instead I have bliss. Bliss and joy in many forms.

Forms of Bliss:
Running Bliss
Loving Bliss
Learning Bliss
Meditation Bliss
Religious contemplation Bliss
Swimming Bliss
Cooking Bliss
Eating Bliss
Sexual Bliss
Comfortable Bliss

Ahhhh... life is good. 

God is Love

I spent the weekend with my friend. Technically we were supposed to be having my hen party, but for me that basically means doing all of the things that I love doing as a single woman... wine, dancing, and long conversations... one of the questions fell to religion and spirituality, which is a conversation that I actually enjoy and do not get enough of since I left the bay area, which was a land of spiritual wanderers, floundering through ethics and philosophy, drowning in the possibility of their lives and decisions. In Arizona I fell into another type of contemplation, which lasted well enough, for enough years, and I still grew. But then I joined then peace corps and the growth was in a very subconscious, physical manner. I feel that I learned a lot about humanity, life, love, living, and the body in those two years, but I did not have many opportunities to orally contemplate religion and the meta-living of life. It was the physical understanding of sunshine and tomatoes, of language and interaction, that did not require process for achievement. But there were a couple of people who shared their perspectives on religion with me in a non-threatening, non-judgemental manner, which I appreciated.

My conversation with my friend this weekend made me realize just how much I will miss her when she heads back to the states, because she is one of the few people that I have in my life that is on a similar level of exploration as me. Whenever we talk I feel regenerated, and back on track in my life, as if she inspires me to be a better person who questions things but also actively lives the decisions that I have made with passion and conviction. This weekend we started talking about religion and somehow got to the topic of, "God is Love." It is not a conversation that comes up with many of my Christian friends in the manner of God being love. Usually it somehow becomes translated to, "God loves you," which is subtly different and yet very far from being the same thing. For the first time in YEARS I felt a rush of understanding and thrilling acceptance. God is Love. I could contemplate on that for years. Just one simple sentence inspires so much interpretation and thought.

God is Love.

It makes me feel small and insignificant and yet large and part of something. It seems to be a very important truth, if it is a truth, and worth investing some time and energy in. However, I do have one problem with that from the Christian perspective. If God is Love, then where exactly does the knowledge of good and evil fit as a sin? Because now knowledge is a good thing, and even Christians are encouraged to learn and process and seek knowledge about the world and their religion. So, once that original sin of disobedience was breached, was a decision made for all humanity? Is the knowledge not so much the sin as the disobedience? As in, humanity as a possibility made the choice to live in this kind of world where we would thirst and hunger for understanding, and so here we are, and now knowledge is necessary and not the sin? Was the sin just choice different of God's? It doesn't seem particularly loving. I wish that I had more time to contemplate these issues with my friend, but for now a quiet meditation on a slow rocking train will have to be enough.