Figlets have appeared on the back tree. Jewel-like camas and comfry blossoms open. Soft fennel stalks push skyward.
I am in pain every day, in sorrowful grief. This is for reasons I've shared and for some I haven't. This is the way life is.
I think we members of humankind (possibly of plantkind and animalkind as well) seek validation. Years ago I would talk with friends about this. My agendas roamed in search of the good word of somebody else. Or I wouldn't mind finding a narrative, a book, a movie, or even a painting that seemed to tell me, yes, it's okay you exist.
Some days I simply dreamed of hearing it in a loved one's voice. This surely would suffice. But the true voicing I sought of course couldn't be forced; it had come free. Impatiently, I sought to know I was valid by trying to build my own narrative structure. Often I became a slave to the endless task.
In recent times I've wondered. What if the shape of reality, the sane voice rising from soil well-composted and deep, has always been a structure existing? A vibrating trueness, though in ignorance I tilled and wept and left it bare.
I think perhaps it is only as I've recognized a future and a past that I have been able at times to tremblingly access being in the present. Actually fitting. I don't do it often, and I never "find" this without help. Help from above. From beyond. Yet as close as all the soft surgings past the back step, my clumsy toes pointing there, being drawn to it, to being real.
I am in pain every day, in sorrowful grief. This is for reasons I've shared and for some I haven't. This is the way life is.
I think we members of humankind (possibly of plantkind and animalkind as well) seek validation. Years ago I would talk with friends about this. My agendas roamed in search of the good word of somebody else. Or I wouldn't mind finding a narrative, a book, a movie, or even a painting that seemed to tell me, yes, it's okay you exist.
Some days I simply dreamed of hearing it in a loved one's voice. This surely would suffice. But the true voicing I sought of course couldn't be forced; it had come free. Impatiently, I sought to know I was valid by trying to build my own narrative structure. Often I became a slave to the endless task.
In recent times I've wondered. What if the shape of reality, the sane voice rising from soil well-composted and deep, has always been a structure existing? A vibrating trueness, though in ignorance I tilled and wept and left it bare.
I think perhaps it is only as I've recognized a future and a past that I have been able at times to tremblingly access being in the present. Actually fitting. I don't do it often, and I never "find" this without help. Help from above. From beyond. Yet as close as all the soft surgings past the back step, my clumsy toes pointing there, being drawn to it, to being real.
3 comments:
Dear Deanna, your words struck home for me. I'm in the midst of writing another memoir (after the one on the convent years). I'm writing about my childhood and not sure if I'll go beyond that and the convent to the 10 years that had me pretending to be mentally healthy. But what I want to say is that as I write about my childhood and the high school and college years, I'm asking about validation also. I want to put my arms around that young Dee Ready--who was known as Dolores then. I want to tell her how much I admire her for surviving, for her perseverance, and I wish that she could have loved herself more. I think you and I both are opening ourselves to the gift of the present. To Presence in the present. Peace.
Hello, Dee, and thanks so much for your comment. Writing certainly gifts us with a process of learning more about reality. I'm very grateful for that, and I hear your gratitude which shines in your various writings. May you find peaceful moments amid all you are seeking to learn this year. Take care.
Dear Deanna, thank you. Health-wise this has been a hard year for me. Not COVID, but the several symptoms of Meniere's that may make any day difficult. Today is good and so I rejoice in that! Hope all is well with you and your family. Peace.
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