I didn’t know until this moment why it is I’ve been so craving someone with whom to talk about these things.
It’s not because I crave their input – though I value it as a precious gift when it comes – but because I need to see what the thoughts look like when they’re outside of me. It really is a sounding-board that I have been looking for, so that I can send out my stuff and hear it coming back to me. Interesting.
I am also becoming increasingly mindful of just how alone I have been, and just how horribly absent that aloneness has made me feel – like a ghost or a shadow, not valued enough to even look at and make substantial. Not shared-with, but shared-at. I feel as though I ought to have been protected, or at least offered the chance of protection, from the rising tide of emptiness that follows the tsunami, scattering debris everywhere, heavy with death, but looking more ‘normal’ than the last, and thereby establishing a false norm.
Let go of the anger, the pain, the binding – yes, I can do that, I suppose. But how to prevent it from happening again – other than running away?
I am learning to be gentle and quiet and still, and it is good. I am conscious that suddenly I am further on the path than I’d thought, that I have silenced the self-critical voices in ways that others can’t even see they haven’t. This is a strange position to be in: it lets me experience an enactment of that which I found in the silence yesterday, as I can help and connect and understand the hurt because I have been hurt by it, and our shared sorrow, held by my having escaped that path, allows us to be friends.
It is good to be close. It is good to be quiet. It is good to be gentle. It is good to let go of answers or of solutions and to sit in the space between knowing and unknowing, not seeking so much as observing and hearing and learning. It is a good place to be. I feel held.
I hadn’t reckoned on the damagingness of the silence; of the obligation to mind silently the things I have seen which I wish I had not seen.
It isn’t safe to trust anyone; I feel bound to loneliness. I feel as though my life has been stolen by what has been done, and no-one in all the world knows it, or else it is invisible to them. So it must be with God that I wrestle, or my inner soul. I need to work these things out because they are tying me, are draining me, are pulling me back and keeping me away from and out of love.
So now we have named them, we can see what they are: they are Evil. They are Deception. They are Untruth.
It’s good to have found the ground on which to stand. Now, of course, I must forgive. Is it ok to be angry first? Do I have to be angry first?
And I’m back to the same question: if we forgive without recognition, without “justice”, we are not safe from future attacks, so then we build protections and barriers and soon we are the perpetrators of these Sins and others are building barriers against us. So how does forgiveness work, actually? I don’t think I understand.
Aching, I head into a journey that will almost certainly be difficult, and which is exciting too.
I am surprised that I am blogging about it; I hadn’t expected that, though perhaps I should have. Perhaps I ought not to blog. All I know is that before I’ve even landed at the beginning, my fingers are itching for the keyboard, I need to write to let the stuff out.
If ever there was a time I might be ‘dying and rising to Christ’, this is it. I head in during turbulent times, a time of mourning and sadness, with much to give thanks for and much to be forgiven for. I am deliberately turning my eyes inward, to face what I find within. I am afraid. But it is life.
I choose to let go of all that holds me, just for a few days, and allow myself to be released, and so I am alone for a while.
To you who who read this blog: this is not for you. You are welcome to listen, it is no intrusion to have you there, but know that I’m writing for me, not the audience this time.