I feel wrapped in gauze,
looking through clouds at everyone and all who tries to peer inside. The
Marley-shaped hole in my heart is an obvious focus of grief, loss in the
felt-sense of who I am, but I suspect the relinquishing of CFLA, the transition
from a full, rich summer into the institutional-rhythms of fall, is underneath
all of this too. I feel far away from myself, or others feel far away from me. There
is a certain gloomy comfort that comes with this feeling. Anything that might
come close to touch me cannot…which means I won’t feel the loss of it/her/them
afterwards. A plausible defense mechanism, if not who I am, at root.
The stories I tell from
this feeling are old ones, and not necessarily true to my realities today
(unless I cannot find a way out of the gauze, I suppose). I have hesitated to
even give these stories/strands voice, hesitated to write for days, because I
know they are the old strains, the old whiffs of story that held me at bay for
so long. I’m weary of these stories, and wish them gone. They have been in these days the
domineering strands of my thoughts, however, even though I attempt to resist them each step
of the way.These are not the dominant melodies of my life today. So why DO they
return?
Perhaps it is worthwhile
seeing them on the page after all, to release them to be seen, to befriend them
once again. Can I just say, though: I am SO weary of befriending them. J
A familiar one, from
nearly four years ago…being left behind, losing, being lost. Lis and I are both
in the busy start-up season that autumn brings. Church, seminary, Ignatian
Retreat in Daily Life, circles, family, more…each bringing its abundance as
well as its energetic heaviness inside. Her husband’s church calls her into certain
exchanges, interactions, as does mine. Each of these Invitations are specific
to her, to me, but they DO come also with the energetic strands connected to a
husband’s calling. The celebration I note in this season of flurried start-up
is that fears that were SO huge years ago hardly flutter within me. They DO
flutter, I can still tell, but almost as residuals: fears of being left behind,
of always being second choice to the church (or something else), of losing,
being lost. These flutter within me, occasionally flaring into full-blown fear,
but mostly quietly fluttering.
[First full-blown flare, Saturday after Week Two
CFLA ended, Megan and Lis down by the river. Second full-blown flare, a week
ago Friday when no spaces opened for even a short voice touch. The voices said:
She’s lost herself; she is out of reach, cannot be reached, does not want to be
reached. You are no longer necessary or desired in her life.] I cringe to see
the words on the page, because I KNOW they are not true. I yearn for quiet spaces,
as does she. I need to be in my own rhythms, once I find them again that is J, as does she. I yearn for my relationship with
Brian to be its own private abundance, as does she with Chris. These are what I
KNOW. And yet seeing and sensing the rise of family energies, the images of
husband and grandchildren rise over her own self, her own wild self, the voices
in me rise, sending my energies into a swirling hot mess. ‘Her time of
individuation is over. She doesn’t want the tumultuous adventure of river-kayaking-worms-digging
anymore. She doesn’t want to draw close to that Flame anymore. My presence in her life is fading, or needs to fade, or...' These words
then ‘have me’ until I’m worn out, decide I won’t care anymore, attempt to
release all attachment…
And then devotion and
awareness of Lisa-Lisa rises in Her time, and I rest, I remember, I know who I
am inside of me and inside of her again, trusting Lisa to do what she needs and desires for herself, weaving
me in as is holy and fitting and wise. My spirit-selkie-skin remains tender,
stretched and pulled by my own sensations of loss, of fear, yet it is also
moistened and strengthened to remember, be Reminded. Everything needs to flow
in its own rhythms, nothing can be grasped or held onto or it will die. Everything I need is right here for... words that rise in my awareness from within, not as a pushing-away from her... They really are true words...when my selkie skin is strong enough to hold all of me.
The stories around Brian
are not as activated as the ones with Lisa. I fear it is because the gauze has
been around us for much longer, and we’ve gotten used to it by now. But our
rhythms are gentle with one another, and attentive. Honoring (for the most
part) what each needs to do to grieve the loss of ‘our girl.’ My dive into the
Whole30 has been a huge relief for me, if a sense of irritation for him.
Fascinating to see the ripples of this simple choice become so huge in our
‘us.’ My inability to emotionally-eat, for instance—or at least much less of it
than ever before—mirrors to him his own reliance on food for emotional comfort.
I feel a sense of loss, a being-useless around him, as he looks to food instead
of to being present with me, in his own pain. But he’s resisted holding his own
deep feeling, just as I have…do…which means the food holds it instead of my
having to hold it. For now, that IS
better than my holding his pain FOR him. We’ve not really learned how to each
be with our own new selves (these last few years), vulnerably, in the presence of the other, without
expectation that the other ‘should carry our pain’ or such an encounter ‘should
be’ something in his mind or in my own. Being present with what-is has never
been our inheritance, after all, though we may be eventually invited into its depths,
sometime down the road. Maybe this is what we could learn now, if we stick with
it, without a dog, for a while. Or maybe not…maybe a new dog would invite us into a sense of ease, to learn this new vulnerability with one another gently. Perhaps he will need this new dog to stay with his emotional self... I wonder...
The stories I would often
tell myself here are mostly quiet. I don’t get triggered when Brian has
to rush over to church for something like he did last night, or disappears into his cave for whatever
reason. I trust he will come out when he’s ready, and I lean into the quiet
that is afforded me. Unless voices about someone or something else rush in…but
for the most part, I’ve learned to keep my balance amidst the energetic needs
of his congregation, his job. The HUGE gift of this change can almost not be
overstated. Huzzah to my Shalem journey, huzzah to Spirit’s tenacity with me,
Amma’s nurturing rhythms of touch and care.
So the gauze is whatever
it is, I suppose… I yearn for the spacious gifts of the Gaze, a re-opening of
my tender self into the holy flow, the Oneness I’ve/we’ve been Given to know.
But I yearn for it without ‘nicking’ the raw sense of loss I know and feel now.
I yearn to touch and be touched, yet without ‘nicking’ the raw sense of loss I
know and feel now. I yearn for the creative drive in which I feel I can give
into the world, yet this raw sense of loss I know and feel now holds me at bay.
It feels like this crying, whimpering part of me that cannot be left behind,
yet cannot also be fully present with those I love. This tender part of me that yearns to be
seen, still without getting seen. This tender part of me hoping not to be ‘nicked’
somehow, being reminded how deeply Love roots within us when we allow Her to
AND how deep the hole is when a beloved leaves her body…is no longer able to be
touched, held, kissed…no longer able to touch, hold, kiss me. This tender part
of me feels like this image I will forever carry—Marley falling asleep, still
trying to lick our hands, yet getting so sleepy…reaching out even as she was
leaving… I have been introduced to this
part of me that simply desires to leave with her, to not feel this loss and
separation, to finally leave behind me this being left-behind, this losing…
And yet I know an
incredible life of abundance here, calling, yearning for me too…
to love deeply
to birth, nourish and
nurture
to release, encourage and
cheer onward
to celebrate, mourn,
cherish
to re-enter the Flow with
my beloveds
to create with my anam
cara, in the Flow we’ve been Given
she and I, Lisa-Lisa, the
mystery of double-goddess power
in One, for the world
to re-enter all of it, in
my time, when time…
which will be…
the moment when it comes,
again and again…
