Tuesday, February 17, 2009

I have been quiet of late, using other poet's words to distract you from the silence. I have tried to write a post several times, yet nothing appears of substance. The rain continues to fall here in Southern California. I love to lie very still in my bed and listen to the rain falling on our wee cottage. Sleep escapes me most nights, the falling rain provides a distraction from the dark, sleepless nights. 

I am constantly looking outside to check the garden and watch the earth soak up the holy water. I miss the birdsong during all of this water, but in the lulls of the downpour, they sneak out of their shelters and pounce along the ground with quick and short tweets, very little song.

I guess, I am feeling out of song these days. I have found myself refer to my old life in the past tense, my heart is breaking for what used to be. I am having a difficult time embracing what is. My other life seems erased, like it never was. I feel like the last seven years have been an illusion of a life I thought I loved. I have awoke in the dark night, to find my memories like the fleeting threads of a sweet dream. By mid-morning, we find ourselves asking, "What was the dream again?" But it is gone. Dreamily gone. An illusion.

It is difficult to grab onto the moment. My options seem limitless, but I am in mourning, experiencing the five stages of grief. I do not even know which one I am on now. Is it like a list we go down systematically, or can one vacillate from one stage to another? I feel like I keep backsliding into denial. Is it over?  My community is gone, the isolation grows and I am losing confidence in my ability to teach, to paint, to offer anything of substance. What happened? Did I chose this? 

I am forced to be strong, but not for my children this time, they are growing and well cared for, I feel I am fighting a fight for me. I am being forced to face myself, to summon strength for who I will be for the rest of my days. I am on a precipice and must decide, do I stand tall? Or do I walk away, with my shoulders tall and my heart and mind firm? Or, do I stay in bed? Bed seems nice, especially with the rain beating at my door, on my roof...


Liz said...

I'm always here if you need to chat. I dont offer great advice, but I'm a good listener... ur reader. :)

Circe said...

Dear heart,

I am not certain, but I think that the choices you listed are but one choice; yes to vacillating, because I think, in that, we heal. To be in a quiet place of grief is something that many never find, and in that loss of place, never heal or find their true self. But in our day, we cannot remain entirely in stasis of grief; we seem to move from place to place within and within it. It is never easy. Grieving is not passive entirely; it is work. It requires strenth, both the strenght to hold on, the strength to let go. Your dreams perhaps are accomplishing some of these things for you; to reach out to what was lost while you heal at night, and perhaps, someday when the pain is less, this will be a refreshing joy to you, even if bittersweet. You will integrate your past self with the new; I know you will. I am in a similar place myself, though at times lost, I know I am still on the journey. The myriad choices when uninspired can be a daunting guilt trip; the rain seems to be a comfort to you and can provide that quiet place, that blessed freedom from "doing", especially from the drive to "do" that comes from living in nearly perpetually sunny CA (I know). Give yourself permission to grieve, to be where you are. And in contemplation, perhaps the spritual cleansing apsect of water may be a benefit and blessing to you. You are not alone; I hope you never feel alone, except when it is beneficial to you to be by yourself. I hope for you most of all right now, the healing that comes with sleep. Our bodies, brains, and therefore our souls suffer without it. You will be in my thoughts...

Puanani said...

Thank you darling friends. Your words are a comfort to me. You do not know...

Christopher Guilfoil said...

The Way It Is

There is a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what things you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and grow old.
Nothing you do can stop times unfolding.
But you don’t ever let go of the thread.

William Stafford

The Puanani I know has never let go of the thread.
I am there with you always sister! Chris