July 28th, 2005
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the lost path


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.

 
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