Friday, January 4, 2013

Poetical Musings

Guilt came to me one certain day, wearing the mask of Religion. I welcomed her in with a smile. We made merry but as she left, she stabbed me in the back. My life spilled, my soul slipping away. Twice yearly she came to me, policing my progress, enforcing her rules. Each time, my face paled, my heart all a flutter within me. More each year I pleased her and her visits became grand. Out went the carpet, my ease no where to be found. Leaving, she rent my soul. I'd smiled, looked her deep in the eyes and felt the warmth of her approval.
Yet there was this weakening, and then there came a rage. I called her out. I made her pay. And finally I saw her...unmasked. I laughed in her face, "Oh, it's you! What a player you are! You talked me out of my soul and nearly out of my mind! I'd sooner die than give one more moment to you! I will find a way to honor my Creator...and neither you nor your alter-ego will have anything to do with it."
This, from an otherwise empty journal, written last summer, 2012.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Still Delicate

Because I am starting a joint venture blog with my best friend this 2013, Affections of a Natural Fancy, I was in here spiffing up.  Soon reading through the ancient posts, the brokenness, the humiliation, the anger all got to me.  What gets me most is the faint glimmer of hope. In those days I felt FAITHLESS.
About a year ago, when we were preparing for the move back to HI, and I was trying to sum up those dark years in Washington, I was reading through my journal.  At the end of most every desperate entry I was shocked to find an even more desperate and barely legible, hopeless prayer.  I thought I hadn't prayed any prayers.  I had taken to sobbing and groaning.  One night while still in Washington, lying in bed with my husband, I rolled onto my stomach and pulled my legs in tightly underneath me for comfort.  My husband says my name and asks, "What are you doing?" I said, "I'm praying."  He said, "You don't pray!"  Disliking the fact he had religiously boxed me in, or OUT for that matter I said, "just not for two years!" and silently breathed a prayer to the one I hoped was there for me.
So this is what I'm thinking: is a prayer ever FAITHLESS?  The very act of praying (or groaning) is in its essence an act of hope, even despite the bemoaners lack of faith in the offering or it's destination.
But how did I pull through? Faith? No, I'm not that strong.
The sun kept coming up in the morning and I kept putting myself to back to bed...all day long...until the agony began to lessen, the grief and staggeringly vulnerable feeling began to ease.  And...voila! My nervous system was healed.  Just kidding.  Healing came to me, found me in bed, and slowly (sooo slowly!) continued its good work on me.  The truth is: I still require healing...everyday, and if I miss a day or two...ouch! I find I have to recover from nearly every stimulation...I'm still very...DELICATE, and may always be so.  Who cares?!  I am free from guilt and shame...and finally figured out how to grieve!