The red of the maple tree is a bright light in the morning mist. I have said it before, more times than I can count, I was born on a morning like this. Probably not, it was probably cold and raining, but I always imagine it this way. And later the day sunny and bright blue October sky.
Nostalgic day dreamer that I am.
I take a painting class, and feel like a child. Yes I already know how to do all of this. But she guides me correctly, I feel my confidence waning and then waxing and then full and then null. I notice the colors subtle hues of purples, peach and blues, and grey. Not as I expected, none of this.
I am surprised that he wants to see me, and he is tired, exhausted, but he rests his hands on the small of my back, and weary rests his head against my neck and shoulder. I just hold him. This man who is suffering. And I see now how very hard all of this is from the perspective of one who has done the leaving, finally coming full circle.
I discuss this thing with her, about yearning without satisfaction, about wanting without receiving. And the excruciating way it is inside me. I want to push it out of me and never deal with it again. I spiral quickly into the madness of my brain. Have you tried talking to this person about it. No this is an emotion best left for this conversation only, isn’t it? Doubts, fears, negativity? Zen teaches us to embrace the feeling. When all I want to do is shove it overboard like a cargo box full of spiders. Lose it all to sea. Shuddering with horror at its creepy crawling icky chilling injection of awfulness.
And where does this coming from? This original feeling? Why is it so painful for me? This yearning. This awfulness of wanting, this excruciating pain of being?
This is what I contemplate right now.
Trying to get a grip on my own mind, my own soul, my being, so that I can continue be strong.
I am reminded of Robert Redford’s character in All is Lost. I want to approach this problem with skill, with consciousness, and be willing to be tossed into the sea to save this vessel from the impending storm, the fear of the wound busting loose again, the thirst that cannot be quenched, the fire that cannot be lit, the water that drowns and drenches us, a galley full of salty tears. And just handling one difficult moment after another with strength, fortitude and a quiet calm.
And just when I think all is lost, a search light and an offered hand.
I am so misty and weepy these days.