On losing my lover.
I have been grieving too long, losing my loved one has emptied me.
Raking leaves, the same autumn he left me, my hands are busy, action is enemy of thought- I stared off into space, lost in sadness. My daughter, working quietly beside me, looked at my face and asked me “What are you doing?” “I guess I’m feeling sad,” I told her- She shook her head and carried on working. “Just rake the leaves”, she said. Now I look at my hands daily and ask myself “What are you doing?” “I’m washing dishes” “What are you doing?” “I’m typing” What are you doing?” “I’m raking leaves- leaving sadness behind me”.
I have been taking antidepressants, I've been exercising, making new friends, accepting invitations. I've been writing, painting, dancing- Like an objective observer, I see myself doing all the right things to get over my depression, my grief. I still have this sadness, and I am looking for a cathartic experience, a trip to help me leave this weighty pain in the past.
I need a catharsis, some big shake up,
a roller coaster ride. I need to remember what a rush of joy feels like.
I'm trying to kill this lowgrade sadness that grinds me down daily. I am grieving- there is nothing noble, or romantic about being haunted daily by grief. Queen Victoria plunged a nation into depression and repression for decades with noble and romantic melancholy.
I need a jolt-jumpstart, like the jolt coursing from the paddles to the corpse, I need an electrical shock to my psychic circuits. I believe in electricity but I find faith in God is beyond me. I do have faith that electricity courses though I can't see it, and it lights my lamp. I need to feel a surge of power.
I want to cut out the dead wood. Gardening metaphors come easily to me here, as I am prayerful only in the way I tend my garden. I separate bulbs, and thin out new plants to make room for fresh growth. My garden is contained lightly by stone walls- Even in the presence of the restricting fence, the garden flows under around through any fence-the laws of the fence are weaker than the gentle swell of a garden. That mirrors my spiritual beliefs, although "spiritual" is an inadequate word to an atheist. The fences are religion, the garden is life force- the electrical hum of the universe unfolding as it should.
I want to leap from a plane, feeling that rush of the free fall, metaphorically and literally. I think the fear and the exhilaration of skydiving will be a way for me to leave that sadness behind me, like shedding the old skin. Leaving the old shell for new digs.
I want to make a bonfire of all my old habits that allow this sadness to remain fostered in some quiet part of me, that part that draws strength from my sadness, my muse. I want to burn the photos and letters and whatever will feed the fire, I want to sweat it out. All the sadness and grief and hurt. I want to burn every last wish I have for any of the things that would allow this ache to grow. I want to come through the cleansing fire, and emerge, shiny as a steel blade, tempered, stronger.
I need Catharsis
Maybe I need some of this:
www.outwardbound.ca
