Inspired by my encounter with the old man at the train I was called to visit another Old Man on my way home.
Although my to do pile threatens to topple at any moment I had to take the time to come and see my steadfast friend.
He listens with out judgment. He does not tell me I’m dramatic. He lets me lean in, and does not shift away. He has seen my true broken self, heard my anguished cries, my whispers of joy, my tenuous hope and still welcomes me to the quiet safe haven.
I am sinking. I am in pain. I am overwhelmed. I am overwrought. I have failed at so much.
My words feel lost. I feel ungrateful. I feel selfish. I feel invisible. I feel exhausted. I weep at his feet. I try to slow my breath to match his ancient rhythm. I try hard to hear his message from the Gods.
For a moment there is stillness. For a moment the monsters stop talking. For a moment…….
As I take my leave, I let the late summer sun dry my tears. I give thanks for the gift he has been in my life. Off to do battle once more.
It is something that sustains me, it is something that heals me and when I don’t feel heard it as a way to make my voice amplified, to connect and not feel so stuck in my head.
There’s been points in my life where I stepped away from it, much to my detriment.
A few years back, with a renewed energy the stories began to pour out, I committed to working on the shadow side of myself, and from there a few narratives were born. There was some collaboration, tidal wave of inspiration and such trust that the stories and essays would flow.
While this particular bout of writer’s block feels like it came on just after the start of the pandemic, truly, when I look back, it has been a slow death since last fall.
First the fiction. There was the death of two cherished characters. They showed such promise and longevity, and were exhilarating to write.
But unfortunately that once promised epic story has became representative of what has become a bittersweet and painful period for me. In a tortuous narrative, (as devastating as I felt) they met their end. Silenced, stopped in mid journey. In the ether they now languish.
Though I did find the courage just before shut down to submit a short version to a few publications.
There has been a fair amount of interest in what may have come next and some suggestions for editing. The real possibilities to see it in print.
But now I am frozen. I can not bring myself to open the file, to polish it up and let it move forward. I did not anticipate how raw I still feel about all that was lost at that time, including the grief about the two leads. How much I miss them. How much they still have to say.
I’ve been able to hiccup some poems and the odd paragraph out, but even the ability to write essays has withered.
Those are my best connection to navigate the world around me and my mental health. But it has been near impossible to write anything I feel confident with.
I want to add hope, insight and support to the people that read my stuff. But all I can muster is despondent rage, and no adequate words to explain.
Life as we knew it has always had its hardships. But this global clusterfuck has added a layer of grimy soot that has not left anyone untouched.
I wait… wait for the words to come. I hope that there are characters choose to speak. I hope the characters ( myself) I laid waste to may someday forgive me. I wait for wisdom, knowledge and hope to share. I wait for the insight to be able to move through, over, under or around this block that feels insurmountable.
I closed my eyes to the sun. It’s early morning fire burning behind my lids. Do the Gods hear me?
I pray the heat ignites my determination. Keep moving forward, it’s the only place to go.
Pull the brambles from my cloak as I keep moving towards the light, away from this dark bog, fraught with prickles, poisonous thorns and things that bite from the shadows.
I call out, the echo answers.
Exhausted, my flesh longs to rest on the cool moss, allowing the bog to swallow me whole.
Slow through the mud, each step a 1000 pounds.
Will I find myself? Will I find the soul kin I believed were there? Was this all just a theatre for the trickster’s amusement?
When I was nameless, I could feel them, hear them.
I claimed my name, they faded violently from my grasp.
I open my eyes to the sun. Memories serve only to puncture.
The only message from the Gods is too keep moving, nameless once again.
Vulnerability is to be strong. So I have read. We all have the desire to be loved, encouraged and accepted for who we are.
There was so much more I was going to write. And part way through, I realized it is pointless.
Wether I am kind or cutting. Giving or closed off. It will never be correct as people put their own meaning on the things others do. We will always be the bad guy or the weak jerk in someone’s story, no matter the intent.
It’s easy to let that removed judgement defeat us. Turn us cold, label people as toxic, cruel – hold on to anger, hurt. To stop trying, loving, understanding, trusting, accepting, respecting, connecting……. we do not allow vulnerability, where true healing is found. We turn this on ourselves, to reinforce kindness comes with payment, we are unworthy of love and acceptance, we are unworthy of working towards better. And so the cycle goes.
Whether I am a good character or bad character in the story you tell yourself- I can not change this. But I am learning to accept I am a whole character trying hard to hang on in a world that makes it very hard to be vulnerable, content, kind and forgiving.
We choose how we react to any situation. That is our control.
Sometimes it is hard not to take what the universe throws at us very personally. Especially when the monsters in your head can twist much to that bent.
I am not proud of my reactions this morning.
I snarked at some well intended things and was not very understanding to another, and perhaps unkind/cold to another friend who is in distress.
I am tired, I am dealing with the things that hurt, my monsters are loud.
But my things/needs to not supersede anyone else’s. Yet I want to scream ‘what about me? I have shit to, incase it matters!!’
In these moments I feel lost, in my heart I want to offer gratitude, love and compassion- despite the deficit I feel. I used to be able to choose that almost instantly- despite the monsters.
This morning I did not / could not make that choice. My monsters whisper that no one makes that choice for me, so why bother for anyone else…… I am overwhelmed, overthinking and overtired. These are not meant as excuses, just a framework for how my monsters can take over.
I know I will owe apologies but I believe I am entitled to some understanding.
For now, until this current storm passes, and my tears dry, my choice will now be to be quiet ( the adage, ‘if you can’t say anything nice….) to try to do some good somewhere today, and hope that those I was not the best to this morning understand and choose to kindness, compassion and understanding in my direction.
Always choose kindness when you can. Try to remember it’s rarely personal, trust that you do count, you do matter and love yourself first, even when the monsters seem to be the ones in the drivers seat.
The greatest art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain. – Lord Byron
The heart, soul and brain all work differently. The brain makes a decision The heart may fight it/ jump on board The soul may cry/ sing
To make the decision to try to truly be present in ones life is hard. Not jumping to the future, not visiting with ghosts of the past. The here, now.
Can be lonely, with out others to be here, now- as they all seem to be other places. But do we base our existence off the recognition of others? Why? ( is it just me? It is, says the monster of invisibility)
It’s hard to sustain ( but what will happen if we don’t over think the what if’s, cries the monsters of uncertainties)
It’s a strange freedom to try for ( but you do not deserve that freedom, it is for others more worthy, cry the monsters of the past as they try to chain you down)
What is the present sensation? Calm? Connected? Cold? Pain? Love? Distrust? Amazement? Distain? Joy? Why is this sensation present? Feel it…. let it move through…. learn what you can…… let go. So easy to say. So hard to do.
Between two worlds life hovers, like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizons verge. – Byron
Ripping the scar off to see if a wound has healed Taking the same road to see if it goes some where new Speaking the same words to see if you hear something different Tasting the same bitterness to see if it has sweetened Letting the already banished ghosts in, serves no purpose other than to create hell. This is not where we are, this is not where we are going. We deserve to let the scar lie, travel our new road, speak the loving truth, taste the sweetness that we create, together, forward, no ghostly companions along for the ride. We have been to hell, got the T-shirt, moved on, time to burn the bridge back.
Standing Still at the Speed of Light 