28 November, 2010
they say that to grow, you must feel fully into where you are in the present. you must notice and inquire about all the sensations, the thoughts, the whole experience of right now. and so i do. i feel the tiny hollers coming from somewhere near the base of my spine. i feel the pinching twist deep below the incision along my rib cage. i feel pressure, heat, and clenching under my sternum. there is the experience of sadness. loneliness. resignation. i wonder what was fantasy, what was real, what is alive and what is dying. the poignancy is overwhelming at times, expansive at others. saltwater runs out of me from a bottomless source and, without warning, my mind flashes imagery of hands, dreams, history, red sand, motorcycles, and maypoles.
all this–and the story is really a simple one. a twenty year relationship changed. the first holiday spent doing it differently. the first of many new things.
the familiar will always beckon. if only for being known. and so i sit with the intense feeling of that. i sit with the haunting, with what is hard, and now, and just is. with the sore throat, the pride, the embarrassment, the gratitude, the anger, the devastation, and the reconstruction. i sit with longing and with loneliness. i sit with ache and awakening. i sit with pattern, habit, and memory. i sit with fear and finding. i sit with illusion and with truth. i sit in the heaviness that is my body and i feel everything.
and, somehow, in defiance or conspiracy, sunday morning still comes. i find my way up. pour coffee, make breakfast. and, above the steam, sunlight meets my face through the rain-spotted kitchen window.
photo: just now, through the kitchen window. november 2010.