Between-in

Dear jo,

I'm hungry yet nauseous. Awake yet exhausted. Excited and a little terrified. Hyperbolic, yet the vocabulary I have recourse to ever leaves me feeling understated, even un-understood. In-between: I always want it to be one word, and despite ever-checking, iteratively verifying the conjunction, my habit keeps it one, writes it one, I want to express how it flowers inside as one. Yes, I want it to be one…you might consider how the wanting actually makes it one, doesn't it? “In that thou hast sought me, thou hast already found me.” The Inbetween. Is that also why I so love a good dialectic? Its pushing to the middle as it pulls to its poles, but ever relying on the middle, depending on the Inbetween to prevent a tearing asunder, secretly loving it for the wholeness that it creates. But I often run for those poles don't I, those stakes of certainty plant firm in the ground, getting frantic if I reach and reach but they're unreachable. Squinting I can see them, within sight, or if not within sight then within imagination: that glorious promiser of everything I desire (and fear). I keep reaching, and at last I grab on, both hands, sighing with relief. Finally I know where I am, safely within refuge of an orientation. …But then what happens, mere moments later, but I’m gazing out to the hinterlands, back to from where I endeavored to escape, looking back into that middle, where everything and everyone is vitally Inbetween. And I wonder whether the Inbetween could be the immanent and embedded Transcendental, could be God.