Bill

“…My father had a nickname for me and my two sisters. My oldest sisters were Dot (Darlene) and Mot (Marlene). My nickname was Bill. Bill was my dad’s best friend, who’d died before I was born. My father was the only one who ever called me Bill. I loved my nickname. I loved being Bill. When my father died, “Bill” died, too. The pain involved in the demise of all that I’d made was indescribable. Not only did I lose my fun, talented, and strong father, but I also lost his love of Bill. In Latin, the word parent means “bringing forth.” As a small child, I was the parent of the idea of “father,” and my “child” loved our entire world. Bill was a part of that world—a world made of love…

The instant we declare to our wives, husbands, children, parents, gods, and pets that we love them, we have hidden ourselves in benevolent, innocent, sheep’s clothing and have become a voracious wolf looking to gain something from the object of our affection. Love is never truly unconditional. What we consider unconditional depends on there being an object or something to love unconditionally. The question “Do you love me?” really means, “To what extent can I trust you to keep me safe? To what extent can I depend on you, my love, to safeguard my judgments? How long will you keep me whole?...

I remember standing in my kitchen one morning, preparing to fry an egg for my breakfast. I placed a small pan onto the hot burner on the stove, added a pat of butter to the pan, and waited for the butter to melt. I then poured in the one egg I’d already cracked and quickly whisked with a fork. The burner was on low, so I stood there and watched the egg slowly begin to cook. As I watched, the egg began to glow a little. Damn, I put a lot of butter in this pan. Then it began to sparkle and come “alive” somehow. By “alive” I mean, the egg was its own autonomous, individual self with no dependence on anything. That egg was everything that ever was. I placed the fork in the pan and moved the egg around, and I could see that as I moved it, the egg was being born right then and there. The egg was being created right there in the pan! This was not the same egg I’d whisked a few minutes ago, then poured into a pan of hot butter. This was a new egg, and in every moment it was new, again and again and again.

I began to giggle, because what I was seeing was the funniest, most fascinating and unbelievable thing I’d ever seen. This sparkling, brand-new, pristine egg was actually being created right in front of my eyes…from absolutely nothing at all, and for no reason at all. My giggling became almost uncontrollable. The joy, amazement, and laughter I felt at such unexpected entertainment was indescribable. I was too amazed by what was present to have time to label what I saw. It could have been an egg, but I really didn’t care and it really didn’t matter. There was no desire to get anything from what I was experiencing. I did not want or expect anything from this living, organic process in my pan. There was just wonder and attention while it was there; and when it was gone, I didn’t lose anything because I’d never gained anything. Its presence and absence had no impact on me….

I don’t know what love is, but giving myself permission to allow more context into my limited perspective and judgment of myself as a black woman with four children has helped clear the fog of language, tradition, culture, and fear that has defined love for me. While I hug my children, cry when a loved one dies, and express my deep love and affection for my spouse, god, pets, and parents, I also see that I have no idea what love is. This means that nothing is outside of my senses. A label does not distance me from what I see, hear, feel, think, smell, or taste. There is nothing to repair, because nothing is broken. I don’t need to deceive myself any longer...

I cannot address my racist and misogynistic behavior against those I see as separate and different from me until I look at why I have the need to see them as distant and different. Why do I need to know and love them? I cannot be authentic with you until I see the innocent, sheep-like mask I’ve donned, then take responsibility for my wolf-like, predatory behavior. Only then can I get out of my own way and live.

The phrase “a wolf in sheep’s clothing” simply suggests that this “love” we claim to know may not be what we believe it is. It’s a call to investigate, question, and doubt our idea of what love is—not to create a “better” answer, but to remain at the question and just allow our differences to naturally interact, respond, and evolve. “Love is the answer” becomes questionable when we don’t know what love is. Maybe we can create a new line of greeting cards that ask questions like “Is love the answer?” “Is love what I feel?” and “Forget love, let’s fall into the unknown?” Willingness and courage to doubt the absolute truth of our world is a narrative whose time has come.

~ Cheryl Abram is a writer, public speaker, and mother of four. The author of Firing God and Tales From Eternity: Armageddon, Orgasms, Kittens and Gravity…Fun and Entertaining Pointers to Truth