The problem with putting things aside sometimes is in not just in the sense of loss and absense, but in the taking them up again, especially when those things that were misplaced represented a continuity of sorts which has now been broken. Rather than muddling over what was, or worse, what wasn't, it is probably best to just start.
I lost my voice for a while. I could not write, not here, not in a journal, not even on scraps of paper destined for immediate shredding. Words came but they were like a maelstorm, spinning around, taking control, eating me alive. Not being able to write is like losing your voice, as if you cannot speak, and if you are like me, a person who often can't pinpoint exactly what is going on in either my heart or head until I can put words to it, it was in a sense like losing oneself.
But even though I felt lost, the fog of silence was preferable to the tempest wroght by words. In that silence I was groping, waiting for a beacon of light. In words I was driven toward panic, toward anger, toward despair. I was clearly not ready for the conversation that words imply, the putting right and "making sense" of conscious reckoning.
I tend to be a leap-first kind of person by nature, despite being somewhat thoughtfully and philosophically inclined, and the ongoing struggle with patience has been, and undoubtedly will continue to be, the most difficult of life lessons to master. I probably never will master it. I thought I had made great progress. Losing a loved one slowly, over a long period of time, forces one to reach some accommodation with waiting. If one cannot embrace patience, perhaps one can achieve detente. But of course, detente is not a solution, merely a postponement. Patience with others does not imply patience with oneself.
I did not anticipate being blindsided by confusion. Knowing intellectually that moving forward often involves a step (or two) backward was no preparation for the actual fall, does not prepare one for the constant questioning of how one came to be the person one is, for the challenging of assumptions, for the clamoring of forgotten emotions, thoughts, wounds and joys that bound up threatening to overwhelm the fragile structure one has spent a lifetime creating.
It seems that there are times when silence is the only answer. It seems that I had forgotten that the seed must rest in the cold damp earth before it can martial enough energy for new shoots to emerge. Sometimes it is the attempt to take control that causes the most confusion, and the letting go that gets us what we need.
I am fine. The holidays were good. This blog is here, and once again so am I.
Comments
18 responses to “Beginnings”
Mardel, thank you for posting and letting us know you are OK. I often wondered how you were doing, Having lost several loved ones recently, I understand every word you wrote.
It is so good to see you back. I enjoy your blog very much
You are such a wonderful, thoughtful writer. I am happy to have you back, and hoping that every day gets better.
Welcome back. Thanks for posting that you are still here. You were missed.
Welcome back. So good to know you are OK. You were missed.
Mardel –
I often seek in my long list of new blog posts (many of which remain unread for long periods of time) for yours.
And your continued silence spoke.
I love how you explain your emotions in this post. I’m glad you found your words again because I love your words.
But don’t think your silence wasn’t communicative to those of us with ears to hear.
Hugs and prayers.
So happy to see you again, Mardel. I look forward to hearing your voice. xo
Loss opens a dimension in your spirit that can only be soothed through silence. It was in loss of a husband through divorce that I learned to sit still, be silent and wait…knowing that I was like that bulb that was planted in the cold of fall waiting for spring to bloom. I think you’re coming through your winter season and starting to feel the warm rays of spring. You will be you again but a different, more enhanced you. Take the time to learn what makes you happy now and remember it’s one day at a time, step by step.
Glad that you’ve found your voice and you’re blogging again.
So glad to see you are once again posting. I missed you! Welcome back.
Geri
Good to see you’re back…..I have been thinking of you during the holidays and checking back. I so relate to you….I have some common elements in my life and appreciate your point of view.
I was thinking about you the last few days. I knew you would be back when you were ready. I’ve learned that standing still allows you to survive the storm and come out on the other end.
lots of love and many hugs to you, my dear friend.
Missed you and your way with words, Mardel. Glad you have made it back to us!
I waited a day before writing the comment that first struck me after reading this — because my comment will seem pedantic to many. But I know you to be a scrupulous writer, good speller, etc., so perhaps you won’t mind my remarking that you’ve used “loose” for “lose” throughout this post — and that seems significant to me in that revelatory way Freud taught us to watch for. Your recent loss has left you unmoored, yes, so loose, but being loosened one also has new possibilities, new horizons, new freedoms. Please forgive my presumption — Happy New Year, and welcome back to the blog, where we’ve missed you. . .
Thank you all. Your words make me smile.
Frances, Now that you’ve pointed it out, of course I had to go back and correct the misspellings. For a brief moment I considered not doing so, but figured most people would no be so adept at reading behind the words. I’m surprised actually that I never picked up on that…….
I welcome the opportunity to read your thoughts Mardel whenever you are able to share them with us.
I do know what you mean about stillness and silence.
Trying to comment again. I welcome the opportunity to read your thoughts whenever you are able to share them with us. I know what you mean about silence and stillness.