Weeks ago I was sitting on the toilet and suddenly it came to my mind: There Are No Rules.
I cannot say this to my teachers, because there ARE rules.
I thought of my father and grandfather, and I wonder what they’d think if I told this to them. My grandmother certainly wouldn’t agree. Nor my mother. There certainly are rules. They’d probably agree with me if I’d explain to them, but then I don’t have the words to do so. I don’t have the words. I can’t explain it even to myself. Nor do I want to.
I thought of God, and His majesty, and His order, and His beauty. There are rules, obviously. I thought of Job, who at one time rebelled against the rules, but then, he, too, would agree with me, that, certainly, there are RULES.
There are rules. But I meant it when I concluded that There Are No Rules. Suddenly somehow my mind was at rest a bit more than before. I was not even compelled to reason against this thought, because I felt that it is a fundamental whatever-it-is — I can’t call it “fact” because that sounds empirical; I can’t call it “truth” because that sounds ideological.
I thought of all the people in the world, the many languages and sounds, different words, different thoughts, different events, different experiences, and I felt that the barriers between us will fall down when we realize that there-are-no-rules, making the act of caring for one another simpler and matter-of-fact, a consequence of being alive…
Yet I know there are “rules” and I don’t want to go against them lest I support “chaos”. I have always been a “good” student and I hope to never dishonor my many mentors. So please don’t get me wrong, because I’ve deliberated between keeping mum about it and sharing it, and I did so hoping that it’s part of the “yeast” that works out to the life that Jesus wants for us all…
…now that it’s come to me that there-are-no-rules I feel freed somehow and, believe it or not, I do thank God for this, and just let it rest in His hands for now…