"Thank you Jill for your welcome. I think your children's book on sexual abuse is much needed. I applaud you for writing it. When my son was in Iraq I wrote a children's book to explain war and separation for my…"
Wanted: Fire Walking Lessons
Contrary to what we may think or wish, healing during times of illness is a loud, raucous, even painful process. You may want a straight shot upward to wellness, all sunny skies, butterflies and fields of wildflowers. Forget it! It is a process of rediscovery, of shedding old skin and old habits, of escaping traps and safe routines. It is necessarily painful. Memories have been buried deep under my skin, so deep they've taken up residence in organs, it seems. Now they've come to the surface, a raw surface to be sure, so that I can look at them clearly and say goodbye or you may stay.
Until this morning, I thought my "story" was in the fire walk of healing and adapting my life to that every minute of the day until I come out at the other end, a time that I'm almost able to touch on some days until it goes beyond my reach, again. Turns out this isn't exactly right. That's the part that I must try to forget about on the better days and approach with gentleness on the bad days. That's the loudest sound.
It is appropriate that my healing is occurring during Lent. For me Lent is usually a quiet, contemplative time. This year has been different. It feels more like a giant reawakening. For others it means giving up something or transforming an attitude or habit so as to have a realization. Either way, it promises change for the better.
But first you must face the darkness...then walk through fire.
Everyone every day faces trials large and small. My mother called and left a message a while back saying she hoped I was warm. Her day started before dawn with hot coffee and scraping hoar frost off the windshield before getting on the highway to go teach at an elementary school. There she works with the neediest of our children. This week for her is warm and rainy. Mine begins with cooking enough food to get me through the day and watching a movie in my head of how how I'll teach a lesson in the classroom.
Those things that we must do are the trade-offs to keeping the thing that feeds the deepest part of us. For a friend of mine, having an apartment with a view of the Pacific means more than having a kitchen and bar tending to make ends meet until her other job pulls in more dough. For another, it means working full-time and teaching Capoeira, a Brazilian martial art, at night with his wife, also a devotee. And raising two small children in a bilingual home.
Richard Bausch, a great short story writer and former prof of mine, once asked in class: What is the loudest sound in your story? That's not the story. The story is what happens because of that sound.
Until this morning, I thought my "story" was in the fire walk of healing and adapting my life to that every minute of the day until I come out at the other end, a time that I'm almost able to touch on some days until it goes beyond my reach, again. Turns out this isn't exactly right. That's the part that I must try to forget about on the better days and approach with gentleness on the bad days. That's the loudest sound.
Each day is about finding a spot we can live with, according to Mom. It's using snippets of time to write, to look at something green, and to connect with someone. And THAT is my story. I just couldn't see it through the pain.
What is the loudest sound in your story today?
© 2011 Marjorie A. Robertson
All Rights Reserved
Comment
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Comment by Marjorie Robertson on April 29, 2011 at 3:38pm -
@Cathy: Thanks for reading.
I like your openness and insights here (and everywhere). I hope your loudest sound today becomes something better.
P.S. I didn't think about the passing time, actually, and feel really good right now that you read it and replied. The only reply! Thank you. I will get back to reading and commenting on posts soon...
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Comment by Cathy Kozak on April 29, 2011 at 10:44am -
A fine piece. Trade-offs require deep contemplation and honesty. Your mom is a wise woman with her advice of 'finding a spot we can live in'. That's just what life is, isn't it? A willingness to shift this way or that with each new day, rather than standing firm in a spot that doesn't fit anymore.
The loudest sound in my own story today is the fact that a photo of me (tanned, smiling, languishing on a hammock on a day long long ago, a day so much sweeter than this one) that sits on my husband's table in his 'room-of-his-own', has been pushed to the back of the table by a myriad of mail and junk and dishes and has fallen to the floor. He hasn't even noticed and I can't help but wonder if this is symbolic for whatever it is that's just not right between us these days...
PS - I'm sorry it has taken me so long to respond, somehow your message was misplaced and I've had to go back and rummage through both my in-box and your profile to find your post!
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