That's a relief - just had to log out and back in as 'New Post' button had disappeared. Blogger is certainly keeping me guessing with its weird tricks. No access again all day yesterday. There seems to be no way to find out why.
I'm listening to Nick Drake which doesn't necessarily mean I'm depressed, more that I'm trying to find the way out of depression as it seems to me all of Nick's music is about that. Making the melancholy beautiful and uplifting.
So, what comes to me to do here is to try to give life to this state - breathe life into words to breathe life into myself. Because this state is somehow a negative of life - light is dark, dark is bleached out, everything is distorted yet familiar. I feel I'm waiting for things to right themselves, yet they never do, and somehow they always do - the key being I have to do something other than wait. Like this...
I sip wine and it tastes sour and sweet, it feels good and bad. I both forgive and reprimand myself for drinking it on a Thursday night on my own. I know my life's thread is still here somewhere, though I've lost it for now. The music. The wine. The self-reproach and self-forgiveness. The attempt to pick up the thread. All of this I've been doing a long time. Here in my new house, I am lost, but half glimpse how this space offers a possibility of finding something new in myself. What I know and don't want to know is that it's up to me what I do here. I walk into my vast kitchen, with a sense of walking onto a stage each day. But I say to myself I'm not ready yet. Don't know what to do with this space - this opportunity. It feels too big, too bright, too full of potential. I am dazzled, agoraphobic. Want to hide. Repudiate the knowledge that this is mine. Lose myself in some sort of guilt about having so much, a great way not to have it.
Grief is the remedy for grief, says my wise old friend. Yes. And just out of view, somewhere behind my back sits the knowledge of my father's anniversary approaching, dodging away, playing grandmother's footsteps, and preparing to disappear again as he did. Somewhere between Sunday and Monday - a whisper. My immediate grief for my job or the self-esteem it brought, or for myself, my hurt at being treated like a criminal, being sold down the river, being dropped like a worthless thing. From one day to the next no longer entitled apparently to this huge part of my identity. Stripped of it. Suspended, then dropped. Bad taste. Nightmare. A recurrent feeling that everything is turning bad. Anxious dreams of messy journeys, forgotten characters from my past appearing unexpectedly, good people becoming menacing, not being able to scream...
How to grieve? Maybe like this...
1 comment:
I want to say something because this is so beautiful, but am also intimidated. I see and feel you so clearly through your words. But I don't know you, of course. Though I know someone who does. I wonder why your vivid evocation of dislocation, discomfort, comforts as well as upsets me. By touching truth it touches something solid and reassuring, I suppose, even in the very act of evoking flux. By sharing a moment of isolation and lostness so compellingly, it tells me I am not alone. Anyway, it is amazing - amazing beauty and communication out of difficult moment. That's worth a lot. That's a lot to hold on to.
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