talking to myself

"That's the problem with me: I assume you'll understand things better the way I put them, but maybe I'm only making sense to myself."
~Teresa of Avila, Interior Castle, trans. Mirabai Starr

Here, on these pages, I don't set out to be understood. In fact, most of the time when I put my fingers to the keys of my laptop, it's because there is something I truly don't understand and words on a page are all that I can hope will bring clarity. I have a devotional book that I use often (not as often as I used to. I'm in a hard place right now) and when I have something to say to the Lord, I write in it. At one time, I used the margins, but these days I use the reading for the day as my canvas. Occasionally Guy will see me writing and ask if I can still read what was originally on the page. I smile and assure him I can (because I can), but that really I don't need to read what was there because tomorrow it won't matter (because I don't think it will). 

Teresa of Avila was "ordered" to write Interior Castle. According to this translator, the order was more suggestion than anything else, but since it came from her spiritual director, a man, and it was the time of great inquisitions and persecutions of anyone with extraordinary ideas, she "obeyed." The book is lovely, and fun to read -- Teresa offers many asides and tangents along the way, making it seem as though she's sitting with an old friend, the reader. 

Sometimes when I sit to write, I am intentionally unclear. One reason is related to privacy. (Truly a funny concept in a blogged journal!) I don't want anyone to know the details of what I'm thinking, feeling, working through, but I do want to, need to, share the associated feelings. Other times I'm experimenting with metaphor or some such nonsense. Still other times I just wonder if anyone is reading, hoping, perhaps, that there will be some question or comment that can offer me some hope that clarity is out there. I've been accused of being obtuse at times. I prefer to think I'm being recondite. Either way, it's usually a call to action, a request for company, a need for fellowship that I can't pinpoint or specifically ask for. 

I'm in an odd place: my life is happy -- my job, my family, my home -- frustrating at times, but happy. My soul is sad. I have lost something, and I don't know what it is, or where to look for it. So I wait, and hope that someone understands enough to help guide me, to nurture me, to simply sit with me. 

Maybe I'm only making sense to myself.

light is darkness

And if your light is darkness, how deep will be the darkness! (Matthew 6:15)

This is the second translation of this verse I read this evening. I read the first three times without being able to begin to understand it. I decided to try reading the next verse to see if it made more sense, and in my Bible, this was the translation. Sitting in the gathering gloaming, I found it fitting to think of light and darkness. And just what this particular verse means -- to me, today.

Near as I can tell, light and darkness are at times relative. For a few months, I've been trying to determine which spirit is talking to me: the spirit of Light, or the spirit of darkness. There are questions to ask, and faith to go on, but in the end, it is still hard for me to determine which is which. Not always, but often enough.

Tonight I feel particularly battered. And for no reason related to today, or even this week. I think, really, it's a level of recovery marked by deep pain. Earlier this evening, trying to define it, all I could come up with is that feeling of knowing that used to belong to the days leading up to a breakup with my high school boyfriend. We dated for just about five years, and broke up about every six months or so. There was an awful lot to that time, and I wouldn't go back to relive it all over again, but there is something to be said for revisiting the why of at least some of it.

And if your light is darkness, how deep will be the darkness!

Wondering why I got that feeling earlier is a key to a door that I previously never knew existed. I need to determine whether it should be opened, or simply passed by. My light is darkness. At least some of it. Things that I have always believed about myself are not all true. Some are not at all true. Some are indeed true, but only in certain circumstances. Some are completely true, but not necessarily great to acknowledge. But mostly, I would say that I have a good amount of darkness where a measure of light belongs. If I continue to believe in that darkness as my light, the truth of me, then I will, first of all, continue to find myself in dark places that frighten me, and consume me. The darkness -- the actual darkness -- truly is deeper, darker.

Good decisions are not always easy, and do not always look like the ones that others would choose. And all too often, judgments are made that only reinforce the dark. Every decision comes with a cost, and even the cost is not necessarily what one would think. Earlier this week, I found myself saying, "It's not worth it to say something," and was met with the response, "It's always worth it to say something." I've been thinking about that. One of my favorite songs is John Mayer's Say. "Say what you need to say....Fighting with the shadows in your head....Knowing you'd be better off instead if you could only....Say what you need to say.....It's better to say too much than never to say what you need to say." When I hear it, I know that each verse is truth. And yet, I usually find myself closer to Billy Joel's words in And So It Goes: "And still I feel I've said too much, My silence is my self defense." My darkness, my light, has for too long come with silence.

And if your light is darkness, how deep will be the darkness!

The two songs come together on one stanza from each song: "But if my silence made you leave, Then that would be my worst mistake," (Joel) "Have no fear for giving in, Have no fear for giving over.....Even if your hands are shaking, And your faith is broken....Do it with a heart wide open" (Mayer). Opening a heart, my heart, requires a key. Rather, it will require many keys, none of which seem to be hanging neatly by the door, readily accessible. I am fighting with the shadows in my head, and have been for a very long time. Trouble is, I had no idea for so long, because my light has been darkness. Hope is my light; dim at times, but constant.

And that's where I am today.

a lovely lady

Dark water swirls around her legs
ripples, rhythmic, icy cold
Rocks wobble beneath her feet
smooth, slippery, hard
The night air kisses her cheeks
ears, eyes, nose
The sound of life in the reeds
waving, swaying, rustling

Why is she here?
What does she see?
She is looking, searching, thinking
Hoping to find
.......

Hoping to find a place in her heart
to give--
freely, completely, openly,
generously, selflessly....
more

Stars shine above
the moon, a sliver
making the pinpricks of light all the more bright.
Each a portal to heaven
but only one way

Loved ones, guide her
lead her, pray for her
That she may pray
and live

a tad sad

"Do you suffer from SAD?"

The question was asked by my oldest son after I told him that I had some Saturday chores to do, but wanted to get them all done before dark on a cold January weekend. An almost tongue in cheek question, but a subject he said had been discussed to some extent in one of his classes. As a matter of fact, a dear, dear friend of mine (who I have never seen nearly often enough!!) and I had talked quite a bit about SAD and its effects last winter. She is quite prone to it, and we often weighed the relative benefits of food, exercise, lights and the like in relieving the associated withering of the soul in winter--or at least what sometimes felt like that!

I told him, though, that I have come to believe that I suffer more from TAD--temperature affective disorder. [Not a real thing, as far as I know!] Although I bemoan the Darktime, I actually, in many ways, have always relished the introspection it promotes: time to curl up on the couch with a quilt and a good book, or learn and work on a new craft, bake to heat up the kitchen. What I really don't enjoy is the still constant pull of life on my Darktime. If I could just "hibernate," ball up and forget the outside world except for the occasional darktime walk to look at stars or Christmas lights, winter would still be my favorite season, as it had once been.

Instead, I have to get groceries, pick up and drop off for practices, rehearsals, matches, meets and games, attend volunteer meetings, and whatever else shows up on my calendar. Don't get me wrong; these are all things I normally enjoy (yes, even grocery shopping), but in the winter, they pose much more of a burden for me. For a long time, it was easiest to understand that this was due to the lack of light in the evenings, but, at that moment that he asked the question, I realized it's not just light. [The seed for this whole musing was planted on the first Sunday of Advent, with a homily about bringing light, and the Advent wreath, and the winter solstice. Quite a beautiful set of thoughts and explanations.....]

What gets me is the cold. The drafts in our old, old house. The tips of my toes being icy from the moment the sun sets until sometime in the night, in my sleep. The chill on my elbows as I type, no matter how many layers I wear, or where I situate myself in the house. I told my son that day that every winter, about this time, I start to think about moving to a nice, tight, draftless condo nearby, where we wouldn't have to worry about the yard or the outside maintenance any longer; but, more specifically, I would be warm in the winter. At least that's what I try to tell myself, until the thought of even considering packing and moving starts to get me depressed and overwhelmed!

Then I kind of laughed to myself, remembering a statement made at our family reunion when it was held in Arizona (a place I loved, and would, possibly, someday, be thrilled to live!): "It's a dry heat: like an oven!" You see, I don't think the cold I feel is entirely related to the draftiness or the outside temperature. I think, bottom line, the cold is related to the dark. It's a big, wide spiral, and as long as I can share my quilt--and my icicle toes--with someone I love, keep a sense of humor, and seek the joy on the edges of the longer and longer days with my family and friends, I'll be fine in the long run.

In the meantime, I think it's time for some baking.

fears: pt. 2

One thing I am afraid of: walking into a dark room. From time to time, I wonder why it's so scary to walk into a dark room: if there is something hidden in my past that I've suppressed that's caused it, or if it's a common, normal "survival instinct" kind of thing. Most of the time, I just make sure I know where the lights are, and that enough of the space will be lit up enough for me to get through.

Hallways don't normally bother me, unless I'm unsure of whether there is a room along the way. Yeah, that's right, a long, narrow dark space doesn't bother me nearly as much as a big dark square that occupies the same mathematical area. (Fears don't always make sense, you know!) And the other oddity about this particular fear is that if I wake up in the middle of the night, walking into or through a dark room usually does not bother me. I know I am not afraid of the dark, just dark rooms.

From the time my parents first left us home alone without a babysitter, I've known this fear. Going to bed after dark meant walking through one dark room, and past three others--four, if the hall closet was open. I would leave the light on in the family room where I would have been watching TV, and turn on the kitchen light. Then I would go back and turn off the light in the family room. Next, I would go to the end of the hall, past the Living Room, and turn the light on there; then backtrack and turn off the kitchen light. I would leapfrog all the way to my room this way--a process that involved 8 light switches (ons and offs) just to get to my room.

In our current house, it's only occasionally a problem, because there are two streetlights that seem to take care of the problem for me most of the time. Once, at the dance studio where I worked, I was asked to go into the front of the building to get a bag of costumes. I made it as far as the door. When I opened it and saw how dark the room was, I had to turn back. I didn't know where the light switch was, or how big the room really was. I just couldn't do it.

I have a similar fear of open closet doors while I'm sleeping. Literally, I cannot get to sleep if a closet door is open. All my life. When we were first married, I told Guy about it, and, the wonderful man that he is, he has always remembered to close them if he sees one open. He's the only one I had ever told, which actually did lead to at least a couple of restless nights away from home with friends or relatives. Then, one night, in a hotel or something, my brother made a point of closing a closet door near bedtime. Our eyes met, and he said, "I know I'd never be able to sleep with that open." I remember laughing and saying that I have that trouble, too! Although it felt good to know I was not alone in my fear, it did make me wonder what could have made us both, with 12 years between us, have the same fear.

Being embarrassed about this fear of dark rooms never occurred to me, but being afraid of doors open to dark closets did. I wonder why that is almost as much as I wonder why I have the fears in the first place. Yet I see no reason to "fix" it. I just turn on lights when I need to, and turn back if I have to. Much the way I deal with the other stuff in life that comes at me. And sometimes, I get a flashlight.

nature's music

I have felt like a cannon ball for some time. Thick and heavy, unyielding, and yet pushed to do, act, be. I haven't been writing, running, dancing, sewing because I have felt crammed into the barrel of the cannon. Stuck in a long dark tunnel, with occasional noises around me, a circle of light ahead, and waiting for the big boom.

Now I'm left with a headache.

Recently, little by little, I have given up myself. I stopped dancing. I sewed less and less. With those things, I told myself it was because I was now running and doing yoga, and something had to give. But I realize I have not even played music in the background of my life. My CD collection, while not huge, is pretty diverse, and there has always been something on as the soundtrack for my day. Again, I told myself it was because my job did not allow me to play music--or even muzak--so I just got out of the habit.

Turns out, all of it was just falling away. For no real reason.

This morning, I woke to the low rumbling of thunder. Not the crashing, crazy storm kind, but the refreshing summer storm kind. Both the thunder and the rain were so gentle, the windows could stay open. The lightening more a glimmer than a flash. I let the sounds wash my mind clean.

I still have the headache. I still hope today is better than yesterday. But today starts my search for the old me. The me I like the best. I don't know if I will go back to the things I used to do, or if I will find something new, but I'm not rolling to the back of the cannon, waiting for the fuse. I'm going to be the confetti that comes out of the circus cannon.

Yes, that's me. Confetti.

looking back

Cold days. Long nights.

Darktime.

I don't remember it ever bothering me as much as it has the past two winters. Probably prior to that, I was better able to cocoon myself into ignoring the darkness--working, baking, reading, dancing--but now I have more running around I need to do. That's why I see the darkness so much. I used to see it as an old friend; one I could visit with as I enjoyed a mug of cocoa or a glass of wine while curled up on the couch under one of Grammy's afghans when I was living at home, or one of my quilts when we bought our own home. Watching TV, reading a book, snuggling with the kids, it was all so much easier to do during the darktime.

The boys are grown now. Not completely grown; after all, they are all still in school and living here and all that, but they are grown enough to not want to snuggle and cuddle anymore, although I do still read to Drew and Joseph when we can carve out the time. They are old enough to make more choices about what we see on TV, and when the majority rules me out, I find myself reading in my bed, all alone, which only adds to the effect darktime has.

I can't tell if the change happened suddenly, or over time; whether it was related to an event, or not. I do know that Dad's death in the winter made that winter harder, and that very well may have been the beginning, but I can't say that it was the turning point. The winter that Guy coached at a pool further away from home was also tough--he was gone more, it was a miserable winter, and I was truly lonely. Again, a possible contributing factor, but not the "one thing" that changed winter for me. There's also my theory that working outside at the pool for two summers has reset my personal rhythms (I'd never really been what one would call "outdoorsy" and the first summer was a real shock to my system!) making the darktime all the darker. This theory of mine has started to feed a sub-theory that we humans are fueled to a certain extent by solar energy--but that's another topic for another time.

What I do know is that I am really having a hard time. As I look out the window in front of me, I can still see a lightness to the sky at 4:57pm, but it's hard to be thankful for it some days. Perhaps if it were not so cold and dreary, the dark would be more bearable. The best thing about recognizing this pain (and it is painful--my heart aches at times) is that I can try things to make it manageable. I've thought often about what has carried me through before, and as a result, I've turned back to baking and cooking, using more intricate and challenging recipes; recipes that will, essentially, take longer to prepare. Focusing on what is right in front of me takes my eyes off the dark sky. I do feel better.

This winter has been a bit milder. Still cold, but no snow, really. Guy and I have been able to run outside more than last winter, and I think that may help a bit, although getting back at 5:40am, getting ready for work, and leaving around 6:40 when it's still dark may rewind some of the benefit. Whether it's the cold or the darktime feelings, running in the winter seems to be harder, and I struggle with distances that in the summer were easier.

At any rate, the days are getting longer, little by little. And I've also been talking more about how hard this has been, which has led me to the realization, or confirmation, that I am not alone at all. I no longer feel as though I am 'confiding;' rather, I am sharing, and of all things, I think this helps the most. The darktime had always been my thinking time, my alone time, my introspection/retrospection time. Somewhere in there a little pain got mixed in, and it needs to be expunged.

I'm working on it.