Healing

When does the broken heart heal? It seems that it never completely does, even with bursts of energy goodness and love, there is a current of grief that once we know it, never complete releases us. I know that when I get accupressure treatments to my body that recognition of the ache that prevails there in the center of my heartspace speaks to me once again. wanting recognition. Wanting more than anything a voice. And it is a voice that takes courage. Not that I am not experienced in courage. It is just that with the onsought of life my pursuits have been material and not creative. It has been a long road to my middle class vision of comfort. A home with a backyard for the dogs, a hardwood floor for the relief of severe allergies, and a heating bill that will not put me in debt for months to come.
So the late middle part of my life has come, next Spring I will be sixty.
It is a time, I have in some ways prepared for. My home is comfortable, there is furniture, real furniture. No more futons, and card tables on loan. There are books in builtin bookcases, more than I will ever have time to actually read.
I have acquired all that I earlier lacked in life, and this has been a dogged pursuit, the books, the furniture, the pets, the completeness of this astounds me and why in all this gratitude is there the fine crack still in the heart?
My mother died suddenly when I was still in crisis over a sudden divorce.
I learned how life can turn on a dime, and all that held you up,disappears.
and still you walk, even though now that walk is shrouded in grayness and tears. And I know also that the tears do stop. They tire, they dry out, they stop.
Energy increases, and life goes on. Laughter hits with its surprising force, and you know that you will live. The brightness of the sun is part of your day again and walks in the woods with the dog are no longer long meditations on loss, love, God and confusion. The winter trees that once caught my confusion in their intricate dark branches are now quieter. But still the vision opens up a part of me, and that part of me almost dares to know thyself. And question the pain that remains.

January 22 2011

The time of winter always plays With my memories of Katy. The last days of January and she died and the Funeral was the first days of February... or so memory tells me. It snowed every day for months after she died. The snow on the evergreen trees always says Katy to me. The dark crispness of the Evergreens and the soft mounds of snow so beautiful and undecribeable in my own way of wanting to describe. the darkness and the white, the rich green in winter and the frost ice feel on the tips of my fingers. all that snow everyday falling everwhere on everything, the long long winters of Northern Vermont as if the snow were my own frozen tears...