Orpheus

I've used the metaphor a lot in my blog over the years since Gi's death, but now it may be more useful than ever. 
I've been stirring up sludge.  What I understand of the Lyme process I'm going through is I stir up bio film where the bad guys hang out and then flush them.  It involves times where I feel like crap; I'm in one of those now.   I was feeling pretty good for a couple of months, and have slipped into a crash and burn body moment.   
Ah  but here's were the metaphor may be most useful,  it's the soul demons that are stirred up too which make this an epic struggle.   Doubt, fear, desire, neediness, fear, grief,       fear.   I've done a pretty good job dealing with the the surface of all of these over the years, thought I'd really done a good job of grieving.   But now the deep stuff has been stirred up   and  boy is it dark in here!

Orpheus descended into Hell to find his beloved Eurydice, his Soul mate  and bring her back into the land of the living.  He had his music, which could make the animals stop still to listen, and advise on how to proceed, "don't look back, have faith and keep your eyes on the Life you're returning to".

So  I'm conversing with fear,  and  desire,   and loss, loss, loss.    And not trying to appease and dismiss them, move on to more pleasant subjects.  I'm hanging out in the darkness and getting wet.  Not sure if I'll be able to bring my Life Force, my creative energy back to the surface of my life.  But I've felt half buried since Gil died.  Perhaps this is the time to stir the sludge. 
It reminds me of a Sappho poem I encountered as a teen "If you are squeamish, don't prod the beach rubble"   I've always been a prodder and not too squeamish.
Perhaps it's time to crank my music!!!

70

I turned 70, a solid round number.  It sounds substantial, has gravitas, invites admiration.  There have been other openings in the last week or two.  I had an intense bout of grieving Gil's absence, realized how touch starved I am, became aware of a hunger to be held.   How odd and disorienting after 7 yrs. 4 months.  Somehow I haven't moved as far along into my life without him as I thought I had. 

My body is getting better for the most part.  The baseline walking, weight bearing disfunction seems to have significantly improved though I still cycle through bouts of pain and exhaustion.   It leaves me hopeful and much more tuned to the NOW of what I feel.   There has been a shift.  I've prayed for my Life Force to sweep me up and help me reengage with what remains of my life.  Perhaps this moment of awareness of hunger, pain, relief and curiosity is the tension filled balancing act of being alive.

A poem which spoke to me:

Want 

by Carrie Fountain (excerpt, slightly edited)

Perhaps this

is the heart’s constant project: 

this simple learning; 

learning how to hold hopelessness

and hope together;

to see on the unharmed surface of one

the great scar of the other; 

to recognize both and 

to make something of both;

to desire everything

and nothing at once

and to desire it all the time;

and to contain that desire fleshly, in a body;

to wash it and rest it and feed it; 

to learn its name and from whence it came; 

and to speak to it-oh, most of all

to speak to it-

every day, every day,

saying to one part,

“Well, maybe this is all you get,” 

while saying to the other,

 “Go on,   break it open,    Go for it!”

Self Care

I've been challenged to think deeply about self care, challenged by others but mostly challenged by my Self.    For some odd reason, it's a skill I never really learned well, never paid much attention to. Not sure why.  Perhaps as eldest in a Catholic family, girl of the 50's-60's, it wasn't part of the standard education of the time?  But there are other members of my family who learned to prioritize self care in the midst of the competing needs of others.   Perhaps I've feared desiring what I believe I can't get?  Whatever the reasons, since Gil's death, I've known that my job was to take better care of myself, but struggled to figure out  what I needed, what I wanted more than how to get it.

Thirty five years ago when I started in Alanon, was the first I remember the concept breaking into my consciousness.  My response was chocolate croissant.  We were coming into the home stretch of pretty deep family poverty, eleven thousand dollars a year was the ten year high for our family of four.  I thought self care was indulging in pleasure, something I hadn't allowed myself when getting enough $ for basic needs was a struggle.  Though my income improved as a single parent, my available head space and time were even less as I grieved the notion of Family which had been the siren call of my life 'til that point.  Focusing on the needs of my kids was the prime driver of my energy. As I became more skilled as a middle school counselor, the skill of helping others, parents and kids, to become more self actualized, became my go to response to any situation.

And then I met Gil who taught me so much about pleasure and indulgence.  He joined me in pursuing a lifestyle which would further the action for our guys, creating a lifestyle in the country which resonated with a deeper part of myself. Though I wouldn't have thought to call it that, it was perhaps the next step in feeding a part of my Self which was essential to who I was at my core.

Gil is gone, my kids grown and self sufficient.  I'm left with the silence of other's needs which makes me realize how little I know about what I need.
I imagine that I'm learning to parent myself.  Of course giving pleasure is the first stop of parental love.  But I've taught parents for years that sometimes the better gift is the respect of a firm "no", and providing a menu of soul enhancing opportunities that hopefully the emerging Self will have the appetite to reach for.  Force feeding soul food, making them practice piano, try hard at school, can backfire, I know, I know.   So how do I stimulate my appetite for activities which will feed my deep well being, exercise, writing, reaching out to friends, a proper balance of vision and project activity?

I don't know.  Perhaps just this activity, empathy for the part of me which just wants to nap, balanced with the knowledge that accomplishing some of my basic survival tasks will make me feel  more whole.  Inviting dreams, asking for help while my body is still struggling, reducing energy draining tasks to a minimum,  listening for the green hum of Spring in my life, encouraging the moisture harvesting of tears so I can grieve the losses that make what IS so much more of a gift, perhaps this is what Self care looks like for my almost 70 year old body/soul.

The chocolate croissant part of me has learned;   I can be hungry for  more.   That Hunger is both the guide  and the goal.  A dear friend has passed.  He had an appetite for life like no one I've ever known.  I felt a jolt of his Life Force when he died.  I want to find and live my appetite, regardless of whether I can get it or not.   The Hunger is the gift.