comforted by the facts

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What comfort is comfort? I was not brought up in the ways of comfort or comforting and yet do what I can (a sometimes fierce imperative) to comfort those around me. The teaching I received is, by this time, indelible: Relying on the comforts offered is just a way to need more comfort; trust is unlikely to be requited. It was, on the one hand, a poor upbringing; on the other, it makes a kind of sense. But whatever judgment is brought to bear, still I am wary of comfort and yet feel strongly enough about it to offer what I can. On a guess, I would say I long for comfort -- much as anyone might -- and lack the equipment to accept/trust/believe it easily. This is clearly a mixed-up point of view.

I went to the doctor the other day and he said he imagined it was my gall bladder that was to blame for my discomfort. So there will be an ultrasound next week. At work, I wriggle and twist with the uncertainties of accepting a buyout might entail ... what the hell will I do when/if I no longer enter that workplace hell? I am pretty much officially 'old:' Who would hire an 'old' person, even if the times were good? The tendrils and wisps of discomfort and uncertainty long for comfort and yet, were comfort to be offered, would it change the facts?

Sometimes I think the whole of life's efforts -- and frequently spiritual efforts -- is nothing more than the search for the ability to be comforted by life's facts. Not the fictions of comfort ... the facts. But in order for that to happen, first it would be necessary to examine those 'facts.'
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