Friday, May 4, 2012
This too shall pass...
I love the comments I received from yesterday’s blog. They came from near and far and brightened my heart this morning. I awoke – and fell asleep last night – in a dark place. I am more tired than I have ever been in my life. “Tired” has been my M.O. for much of my life. It is my shield against the world, my response to “how are you doing?” and a catch-all for many conflicting emotions. This is a whole new level of tired. My muscles ache as I walk up hills, my face feels heavy and full, I am short of breath. Charming, huh?
Yesterday, we made final trash piles on our land to prepare for the bulldozers next week so we can take the next step of moving our trailer to the site to live “at home”. I love this plan – and I hope it works. Those dang dogs decided to range while we were cleaning up. Thinking they had merely passed from sight over a nearby ridge, I began calling them, gently at first. Given we now have no trees, I was able to spot them way too far in the distance. Now screaming their names into their selectively deaf ears, I had to hike across acres of blackness to get near them. Of course, by the time I got to where I had initially seen them, they had moved even further. I finally was able to waken them from their fantasy of escape and hauled them back to the car. They were coated in ash, wearing black soot socks and zebra stripes across their bodies. Just how will we deal with the mess in our trailer, I ponder.
Yes, we could go rent something, but I need to try this out. I want to be on the land. I want to create home. I crave it. The part of me that hasn’t transformed my desire for rootedness needs it. I am supposed to transform that, right? Supposed to “get” non-attachment and forever be Zen in my ability to be with the groundlessness of being, right? Right now, I say F that.
I haven’t cried in a while and I know that adds heaviness to my soul. There hasn’t been a release of the sadness so it is dragging my system down. This recent “stage” of my process has felt darker. The numbness has worn off and what is here is the reality of this process. My house is gone, my stuff is gone, I have to remember and write it all down which I keep avoiding all the while I struggle with folding my clothes and organizing the small amount of paperwork I do have. If you saw the mountainous spread across our borrowed dining room table and kitchen counter you would never believe we lost everything. If you saw the pile of clothes on the closet floor you would think you were dealing with a teenager – a very messy teenager that is. Maybe that’s why teens can’t pick up their clothes. It is merely too much for them. The angst of the world is too heavy for their hormone raging systems to process and cleaning becomes impossible. Just sayin…
My head is fuzzy. I can’t remember things. I have to ask people to explain what they mean where as before I was sharp and picked up quickly. I am now dense, highly sensitive and thin skinned. Does this mean I am “not doing well?” (I have written so many of my thoughts that I can’t remember if I have written about this – and as I said, I am having trouble remembering anyway…) What does “doing well” even mean? So often we hear “she’s doing so well since her children died in that horrible crash…” We are admired for the chin up way of being. How about we admire emotional messiness, piles of laundry and heaps of snot?
I still think I am “doing well” under the circumstances. Why should I not feel flattened? It’s the hallways that are the bitch. Being the seeker that I am, I want to know who I will become. I see parts emerging – some that I will want to keep – and others that I will want to move through or discard. I will choose not to keep bitterness and blame – yet for now, and until someone steps up in responsibility for causing this human fueled error the double “b’s” can hang out a bit.
I will definitely keep my dark humor, my deepened understanding of others angst and grieving process, my desire to be there through thick and thin for my peeps. I will keep my writing as an outlet. I will keep my deep love and respect for my husband. I will continue to adore my dogs and marvel at their boundless joy in simply being - even when they roam. I will still love Colorado and the mountains – I will find beauty in the devastation. I will celebrate those who feel deeply and are willing to share it – even when it’s ugly and mean. I will be snob and love that I have an Airstream and not a Winnebago. I will like nice things – but not want too many of them. I will choose to see the goodness in all people, even when they don’t see it in themselves. I will hope to have more self-acceptance then ever before. I will certainly know I can walk through deep loss and grief.
So yes, there is darkness now. Deep murky, stinky, slimy, heavy, overwhelming darkness. I know I won’t stay here – although it helps to remind me of that when I awake gripped with the immensity at 3am. I do know “this too shall pass”. I will emerge stronger, brighter, wiser – maybe more beautiful J as I learn to appreciate my newest wrinkles and maybe one day my “Moeller nose”.
But don’t ask me to be there today, ok?