PART ONE: RIDE THE PONY
November 20 2014
Grief. The last word of the last post. The last word in feelings. The last word in a world of loss.
I never did like Novembers. A bittersweet month it always seemed to me. And this one has been no exception. I hit a low spot…a swale of sadness linked to regret and rejection; the latest being from an agent in London who said “no” to my novel.
Someone asked me today “When will I stop feeling like a sad 2 year-old?” and I wished I could tell her. What I did tell her is that the place where we were psychically wounded in our childhoods is the place we will continue to emotionally react from as adults. It is an American dream that we can make history disappear. Personal and universal history, are part of our DNA. I’d like to say that the way I’ve been feeling the last couple of weeks will pass, and it most likely will. But I can’t say that I’ll never feel this way again.
What I do know is that there is more work to be done in order to come to terms with who I am and always have been as opposed to who I wish I were. This takes courage and courage takes will and energy…two assets that seem to diminish with age. In my case, a quarter century of daily physical pain along with a lifetime of alternating between rejection and recovery have certainly taken their toll. And, ashamedly, knowing that I am far better off than any woman born into a third world really doesn’t make me feel any better today. In the end, there is only one’s self to reckon with and the mirror I’m being reflected in these days is filled with flaws, its backing partially removed. But reflection doesn’t serve me well at the moment. It’s a warp of vision that’s nearer than it appears. And really, I’m tired of reaching for the brass ring instead of just riding the pony. So I’m on it.
The happiest moment of my life was the one in which I stood on a rickety bridge on the Cornish cliffs watching a moorland stream cascade on one side, before disappearing underfoot, never to be distinguished again as it rushed to the sea.
A moment without interpretation. A moment devoid of meaning. A moment absent of metaphor, absent of past or future, absent of desire, hope and expectation.
As said the rose: “Thrive where you must; stand tall in your essential self.”
To be continued…
