Sitting in a meadow writing, deer flies buzzing around my ears. Most times I come to this "other" woods looking for a beautiful path that I found a year ago, the long path through a cedar grove. Again I cannot find it, and I am beginning to wonder if it even exists. Some green iced tea sits in a bottle in front of my crossed legs.
I was saddened yesterday to hear that an aquaintence of mine attempted suicide a few days ago, someone whom I admire greatly. I sit wondering how her life became so full of despair? Was it sudden or did it build up slowly over many years? I had no idea she was struggling. But that is what we perfectionists do, project the perfect image so no one suspects, yet on the inside there is flailing, (and an inability to ask for help, lest we show others that we cannot handle it all.) I may be making assumptions here but I often have a sense about these things.
My first impulse was to send her a copy of the "lost soul companion", (which deals with this topic in an honest and heartfelt way). But because I don't know this person well I am unsure of how this might be received. Somehow I want to say, "I feel your pain", it is the pain of being human, existing, struggling, feeling.
I am reminded of a quote from a few journals ago, something to the effect of "what will you do with your pain?" It is an interesting proposition as previously I had never considered that it was something I could actually use or channel in any way, rather it felt more like something that might suffocate you instead, (or threaten to cut you off from any light.) I like the idea that it can be reformed into something good, and that i have some control over that.
I just looked up and saw a bird land on the high branch of a tree. How many of us look at a bird and wish with every ounce of our being that we could inhabit that life for one day and look out at the world from such different viewpoints? How often do we assume that someone/something's life is much better or more carefree than our own (i.e. celebrities, the rich, our neighbor)?
Today I wish I could sit in this meadow forever, moving about it, sketching the wildlife, napping under trees, and writing. This must be what Emily Carr felt when she camped out in her small trailer, (nicknamed "the Grey Elephant"). No pressures from the outside, no worries, no fighting, no feeling obligated. I wish I had her books with me but I sent them on to CA, (with all of my other favorites). It's as if all of my friends are missing. Maybe it is time to do more writing of my own.
I smile to myself as I sit here, just ahead of me on the path there is a high grassy hill and I feel myself wanting to climb it so I can see the view from the top, I'm thinking it might be more interesting than my current vantage point. While on the beach a couple of weeks ago Jeff and I were talking about how that must be how the entire world became explored, by the need to see that which is just out of view. How silly we humans are at times, assuming that it must be better elsewhere, (better when...) Maybe it is.
Or maybe everything that is good is right here. This spot, this pen, this book, this hand, these eyes, this heart.
You have an amazing way with words. Truly inspiring! You seem to reach right into our souls, our minds and capture the essence of what we feel. At least for me.
Thank you!
Posted by: Shelley on August 6, 2005 09:04 PMi feel as if i was at the meadow with you, struggling with these large concepts, deer flies buzzing in my ears. i can only hope to write as well as you some day. great post.
My mom was suicidal for a long time and one day she finally succeeded. I've learned a lot about it (the really icky way) and thus your post hit me instantly. Please just let this person know you are caring about them - the "how" of this message really doesn't matter. And it's okay if they aren't close enough that you care about them individually and you're doing it because you care about them as part of our humanity (I hope that's making sense) Either way-this person needs to know someone notices whether they live or die and it is important.
ACK! Enough on this topic and I LOVE your work. Thanks for all you do.
It makes me think of the question "What is enough?"
Posted by: Swirly on July 30, 2005 12:04 PMHi Keri,
Thank you for another wonderfully perspicacious post.
As for your aquaintance I understand your caution in not wanting to "intrude" or be inappropriate. Where you are "only" aquainted with someone you admire it can be hard to know how to reach out to that person if they are going through a difficult time, like losing a loved one, or in this case crying out for help through a suicide attempt.
You have such a gift when it comes to expressing yourself, I am sure you will find just the right words, maybe written into a card with one of your collages or illustrations. I would imagine that this friend would be grateful for a gesture of compassion and caring from you; you can never go wrong if it comes from the heart.
Take care, Kerstin
Posted by: Kerstin on July 29, 2005 04:31 PMThis post resonates with me and will be kept by for when the dark winter depression lands on my back. Asking for and accepting help is the bravest thing you can do. Today I am very happy that I am me.
Posted by: Anne on July 29, 2005 03:29 PMEveryone should have an "elephant" :) Mine is pink.
Posted by: D. on July 29, 2005 03:01 PMBeautiful bird. Fantastic colors.
Posted by: David on July 29, 2005 02:19 PMThank you so much Keri for this post. It brings much needed strength to me on a very difficult day.
Posted by: Alex on July 29, 2005 11:26 AMI like your bird drawing, Keri.
There is a rhinoceros koan in John Tarrant's book, Bring Me the Rhinoceros and Other Zen Koans to Bring You Joy that addresses 'meeting the inconceivable'. I was re-reading it yesterday and am working with this koan now.
The koan illustrates that doubt is a valuable spiritual state. We never know, really, what's going to happen. Maybe what we think to be 'good' will turn out not-so-good and what we expect to be 'bad' will get life flowing again. When we embrace the darkness, the unkown, we open ourselves to what we cannot conceive of, which Tarrant writes, "might give you your life and even unexpected joy" (p. 53). "The old teachers thought that what is inconceivable to us is, ultimately, the only thing that we can genuinely rely on" (p 54). We can only be happy right where we are, even while disaster and darkness are here with us.
I MUST share this entry with my son, who is struggling with pain and despair in his life. Maybe hearing this so elegantly stated can give him some insight that has escaped him so far. Thank you.
Posted by: Gwyn on July 29, 2005 09:15 AMI bought your book sometime ago, I just got it in the mail this week from my mother in the US.
There is an artist inside of me dying to get out, I'm looking forward to utilizing your book. FIrst thing I think I will do is dis-organize my home and put everything in to open boxes! :)
Thanks for this book
Shawnnita
Australia
What a beautiful post!! Thank you!! Have a wonderful day!!!
A big hug full of sunshine from Spain!!
keri, perhaps you could send this entry to your friend... i think sometimes when we are depressed and feeling like we just can't cope and don't know how to make sense of the world, it helps to hear that someone else has been there and has some of the same questions... stops to look at life and wonder why? and your understanding of all that may help comfort her.
wishing you (and your friend) courage and more moments of clear sight...
Your wisdom has wings of blue tinged with specks of gold.
As I wrote the above, I accidentally typed, "tinged with specks of god"
Sometimes mistakes aren't.
Lovely post, bluebird.
Posted by: Donavan on July 29, 2005 02:19 AMOh, Keri.
I feel as though I should be sending you words of hope and comfort, but I'm the one who feels uplifted and warmed by you.
Love to you. xoxo
Posted by: christine on July 29, 2005 01:38 AMgreat post. thanks.
i think it's true that sometimes we wander because we are longing for something better. But I think sometimes we like to explore that clearing or climb over that hill because after the exploring's done it's so nice to come back home again.
Posted by: zippy the troll on July 28, 2005 10:43 PMDo you know how many blogs/journals are full of wishes to be someone else, somewhere else, or somewhen else? I suppose it must be natural or we would never evolve. I think to live in and for the *now* is more difficult because it requires patience and time for reflection. I will freely admit that those are two things I am often short on!
Posted by: Michelle on July 28, 2005 10:41 PM