Time to Heal Essay sort of

                Time to Heal        July 24 2007

He filed the paperwork yesterday and now we have 90 days to wait.

I’m juggling four places to live in my mind
The neighbors, (house sitting)
The parents, (my new address)
The music partner’s (just in case)
Here (until we sell)
Oh, and my car, because I’m always in transit.

I’m juggling I can’t say how many occupations;
Massage:  Appointments, phone calls, marketing.
Guitar Lessons: Appointments, phone calls, marketing.
Music: Hours and hours of rehearsal. E-mails. Performances. Marketing.
Moving:  Long minutes staring at things wondering
Do I need this
Should I keep this?  Or,
Where did I put it?  Is it at my parents'?  Is that book at work?
Moving... Long minutes staring at the garden, getting lost in the wind
Going somewhere else with the birds
Moving.  Time unknown walking down the road I love
Disappearing in the leaves of trees

Organizing.  Cleaning.  Evaluating.
Phone calls.  Trying to explain the irrational. I need to talk.  To understand.
Getting tired of all the rants and wishing we could talk about you instead of me.
I want to heal, and I don’t want to rant. Or point.  Or justify. I want to heal.

Gardening.  Cutting back lush growth and weeding the paths.
Evaporating in the smell of cut lavender and cut grass and cut branches of cedars.
(Forgiveness brings healing.....and time, it brings change.)

I have a list of things to do.
But at 6:00 when I’m done with dinner
Instead I get lost in the computer. 
This must be hard for me.  I don’t want to do anything.
My fire burns low, and I nurse it with twigs, since there is a burn ban.
Maybe that is what is going on now.  There is a burn ban.
How far does that reach?  To my heart fire?

Time will bring change, I know
I won’t always feel like this. 
It isn’t that it’s horrible, or anything,
It just isn’t anything.  It’s kind of nothing.
A reluctance to be industrious at this time
This long slow grieving tapering off unevenly into some future I cannot see.

He told me today he had a vision
A dark place, a black room, with both of us in it.
An opening door, and a field of flowers and bright sun
The smell of flowers, he said, he could actually smell it.
This is his encouragement to me. 
We are both at a door, opening to fragrant flowers

Then later on he was shaking his head
(I can’t hear you, he says shaking me off)
Sharp and walking away from me like a bad habit
And I began thinking again
About what it will be like when this place sells and we can go separate ways.
I am watching intently this negativity
Maybe I can bore a hole in it with my intent.
But the honest truth is it tires me out
And by 6:00 in this house anyway, I’m ready to get lost in the computer.

The kitty jumps up while I type away
I pick her up and put her over my shoulder.
She talks to me, and pushes her face against mine, hard.
She insists that I engage her emotionally.
She is my angel, my little furry heaven connector

So much to do.  I would like a sabbatical.  Maybe, a year or two?  Ha ha ha ha.
Just a time to heal,
To be mindless
In the breath of trees. 

So I am being rooted out and potted up, ready to be packed into baggage
And shipped away.


                   **********************************

Part of this grieving is for the marriage, yes, it’s true.
Part of this grieving is for the home and the property, which are only concepts.
So this lesson is that: true home better be found within
And the heart must be a sanctuary, inhabited by your closest friend.

(I digress:
When we were a moving tribe, traveling over the land,
We did not sweep floors or muck barns,
Or urinate in the same place day after day, souring the land.
We always had clean ground. Fields of flowers.  Spice of grass.  Incense of wind.
We did not have infestations or moldy linens or stinking garbage.
We had no reason to stand our ground.
We could run! 
That life has its own threats, the flock; the herd, they have their dangers
But I wonder why did we stop?
Why did we begin to invest so much
In sitting still? 
Drawing lines in the dirt and making a heavy debt of accumulation?
I am confounded with all this stuff I have to deal with now,
There is so much that is pure rubbish; I mean, clothing which is only for show
And cannot be of any use in a real life
Food which is not food and all the stale containers for it
Furniture and house wares and pictures, documentation--
Paperwork which justifies me to some institution
I cannot take all this with me!  I want to run!)

Separating what is necessary from what is superfluous, this is the endless task
It is a familiar task
I’ve been at it for years and years and years.
My own mind can deceive me depending on how I look at things

From the point of view of just moving death--
I cannot take all this with me.
--I don’t want the soul ties.
I must be careful, though.  I cannot deny the reality of the life I’ve lived.