The Quarry

Recently I started going to a meditation meeting once a week on Saturday mornings.  I’ve never been good at “Meditation”.  The formal thing where you sit and try to empty your mind or focus on just one thing.  Turns out I have been meditating in several different ways for many years, just not the formal one.  But I’m going to this group.  Time to broaden and deepen my spiritual life.  

One of my main ways of meditating was active, creative meditation.  Just letting things float through my brain as I created whatever.  But since Jim died I’ve had a big huge creative block.  I’m missing my right arm, my creative soulmate and I don’t know how to work around it.  Yet.  Eventually I will.  Just not right now.  

So I was sitting in this group.  We do a 7 minute silent meditation.  And I got a vision.  

Deep within me was a giant, empty cavern.  The walls were black and craggy.  I had been mined.  There had been drilling, explosives inserted and detonated.  The ore had been extracted.  This had happened over and over until all that was left was an  abandoned quarry.   There were still metals and gems to be found, but the chamber would collapse if anything more were removed.  So I sat in this empty cavern deep within myself.  I sat and contemplated the hollow, barren emptiness of the innermost recesses of my psyche.  As I sat, I noticed a small pool forming.  Water dripping quietly, silently down the walls, pooling at my feet.  My eyes adjusting to the darkness, searched for any beacon of light, any sign of life.  As I sat, all I could see were shades of black.  Then off to the side, I thought I detected something.  I looked, but still nothing.  And then  another faint change, again out of the corner of my eyes.   I closed my eyes for several moments and then opened them again.  And in my peripheral vision, there was a slight glow on all sides.  But wherever I looked directly, I was unable to see anything other than blackness.  It was like when I try to look at the Pleiades, the seven sisters, in the heavens.  I can never see them directly, I have to look to the side of them and there they are bright and shining adjacent to where I focus.  So I sat and focused in front of me, letting my eyes absorb what was around.  And I realized that the cave was teeming with small, dim glow worms.  

Then a soft gong sounded.  The meditation was over.  As we discussed meditation, I was quiet, somewhere between the cavern and reality.  I listened, but mostly I just let myself absorb the vision.  After the group ended, I walked home, still lost somewhere between there and here.  I continued my meditation, in the way I usually meditate.  Just letting the thoughts swirl and dance.  Arranging and rearranging themselves until they mesh into a cohesive thought.  

As I walked home, I realized that vast amounts of me had been scooped out of me and that there had been, still was, an almost unbearable darkness, an immense, echoing emptiness within.   But in the vision, were the seeds of light, the seeds of life.  The water of my tears was cleansing me, but also going within to provide sustenance for the new.  

A week ago, I watched the Lunar Eclipse.  It started opening the door to me realizing the gifts Jim left in me.  This past week, I’ve realized that yes, he is dead, but much of him lives on in me.  It’s been one of the most difficult things about the loss of him here.  We were together 24/7 for 16 years.  Everything in me had become connected to and entangled with everything in him (btw - it went both ways).  We talked and shared.  We didn’t always view everything the same way - that would have been boring.  We got to exchange our views and learn to see things together, incorporating both of our views.  Until now, I kept tripping over our connections.  There’s no one on the other end any more.  Millions of nerve ending ripped from their mate, each one screaming in pain.  But enough time has passed for them to not be so sensitive, they still hurt enough for me to cry, but it’s manageable now.  So I’m gathering up the connections and bringing them inside of myself.  Sitting with them, recognizing them, naming them.  Discovering consciously what gifts Jim left me with.  

I laugh ironically to myself.  I would not have had that vision if not for Jim.  Or if I had, I would have had a whole different interpretation, a completely different metaphor.  Today I know about mining.  Quite a bit actually.  I know that many gemstones come from metal deposits.  I know the process of mining and extracting the metals.   But then again, Jim learned more about fashion than a mountain man logger ever thought he would.

So I’m delving into the memories.  Embracing each one, hugging it close to me.  I’m doing an inventory of the raw materials within me: there are the ones I already had, the ones I developed with Jim and the ones Jim left behind inside me.  Before I go onto the next stage of building a new life, I have to know what I’m starting with.  There’s a lot to sort through.  I grew so much, became the woman I am today because of him.  And although there are so many days where I feel like an empty shell without him, he made me strong enough to survive without him.  

Waking up Again... Dopamine, Debridement and Healing

So many feelings churning throughout me these days...looking for a new home, a new way to be.  It's all stirred up, but in a good way, a healing way.  It feels horrible, it feels painful, but I can also feel the healing happening.

I worry that I repeat myself in this blog.  I know I repeat myself constantly in my journal.  Some of the same things come up again and again.  Some of them lie quiescent for a time and then resurface.  Some I push down, not wanting to feel them, doing my best to avoid them.  But the feelings are always present.  Yesterday I was very aware that I needed to write.  Instead, I spent the whole day avoiding facing them head on.  So they wait.  And when I try to go to sleep, they pounce, leaving me sobbing and wailing.

Sometimes I have so many opposing feelings happening at once, I feel like I'm in a tornado, spinning wildly.  Metaphors race through my brain, trying to make sense of the chaos within.

Part of me, the critical, controlling, judgmental me, thinks that after almost two years I should be farther along.   I'm sure many people think so, luckily no one says it to my face.  One person did and he was quickly history.  Luckily for me, so many of the people I've been fortunate enough to surround myself with tell me "It's a process.  It's different for everyone.  There's no wrong way to grieve.  It never fully goes away." and many other loving things that I can tell critical me.  And I remind myself that I had a year and a half of major losses, compounding the grief.  Intellectually I realize that I have sustained almost every major loss one can have.   So I try to be as gentle and loving with myself as I would be with someone else.  I give myself credit for getting out of bed, getting dressed, walking to meetings, putting my hand out.  I'm taking care of myself physically - probably better than I ever have in my life.  I go to grief support groups, I go to church, I go wherever I can find what I need to keep moving through this.

I think I spent the past six months in numb despair.   I was in the same sort of zombie place after Jim and then my Dad died.  Both times it took the same thing to jolt me awake.   And I feel embarrassed about it.  But I now understand the Sleeping Beauty story.  Because both times, it was a kiss that woke me up.  I don't want to be the kind of woman that needs a kiss to wake up.  I "should" be strong and self sufficient and not need a man, blah, blah, blah..... but it is what it is.   And then I read my friend Jill Hamilton's blog post "Dopamine, the Cruel Bitch Mistress".  I have another friend Ethlie Ann Vare who writes about Love and Sex Addiction and talks about dopamine.  But the other day, it hit me when I read this quote (quoted in Jill's blog) by Sheril Kirshenbaum in The Science of Kissing. 

Spiking during a passionate kiss, dopamine is responsible for the rush of elation and craving, and can also result in obsessive thoughts that many of us experience in association with a new romance--almost like an addiction.

So the kiss woke me up and jump started me.  Since I'm totally an addict, I want to dive right in and get more.  Added bonus, the grief recedes.  I know it's still there, but the pain is gone.  I was trying my best to be a little wiser than I've been and take it slow (admittedly something I have little experience with.  The only time I took it slow was with Jim and that was because at the time we wouldn't see each other for several weeks in between dates because we were both doing art shows and in different places).   And then the man decided after 2 dates that we shouldn't see each other.  I'm still confused & unclear about the reasons.  But it was good in a masochistic, hurts so good kind of way.  Because although my addict self wants the dopamine rush, the escape from the grief;  my sober self knows I need time alone and time and space to heal.   And I know through experience that once the dopamine rush wears off,  the grief comes back, but in an unhealthy way.  God did for me what I could not do for myself.  So it is best this way.  BUT....

It triggered all of my abandonment issues.   Followed closely by Anger.  And on Anger's tails, Guilt, Regret and Remorse.  I'm fucking pissed at Jim for leaving me, for not taking better care of himself.   I'm angry that no one, myself included, thought that maybe there was a physical reason for his mood changes.  I feel guilty that I didn't know, didn't have more love and patience when he acted like an asshole.   He fucking promised me that he would never leave me and he fucking died on me and left me forever.   (I really thought that we'd split up, have some time apart and end up back together).  I'm angry at my father for falling and discovering he had cancer.  It wasn't even a week after Jim died.   I didn't even get a chance to absorb Jim's death and I had to deal with my father dying.  I'm pissed at God and myself for Athena's death.  I feel so horribly guilty that I was distracted and she died a painful death because of my negligence.   I feel like I let Jim down, one of the final things he wrote entrusted me with her care and I fucked up.   And I feel like I let Jim down because my store failed.  He wanted so much for it to be a success for me, he wanted me to be happy.  And I couldn't make it work.

AND I KNOW intellectually that I couldn't control, that I did the best I could, they did the best they could, yada, yada.  I just can't get what I know and what I feel to be in harmony.  But I do know what I need to do, more writing (privately) and share it with someone.  I've found someone I think will be able to help me with it.   I still have hope that one day I'll heal, I won't be one huge, gaping wound.  Right now I feel like a burn victim being debrided.  Dead tissue removed, exposed nerve endings, but necessary for healing.

I have so many fears and insecurities.  Jim and I had thought we were like two trees.  We began as individuals and were so close we entwined around each other, but we were still two individual trees.  Now I wonder, because without Jim here to entwine around, I've flopped over onto the ground.  I keep wondering if maybe I'm just a vine....not a tree.  But first I have to clear out he anger, guilt, the things infecting me and keeping me from healing.  Then I can move on from there.  At least now, I'm awake and I see the path directly in front of me.

A Glimmer of Hope

My therapist from grief group wanted me to write this story in my blog.  When I told it in group it didn’t seem like a big deal, but that’s why it’s good to have other people - sometimes they are able to point things out, that I would completely miss.  So here goes...

Several weeks ago my friend Katy and I went to the FIDM (Fashion Institute of Design and Merchandising) Fashion Show.  It’s a showcase of the work by students from the Advanced Fashion Design and Costume Design programs.  Twenty five years ago, Katy and I were both part of the fashion show.  I could go on and on about my friendship with Katy, but we were bffs at FIDM.  Our styles were about as different as they could be - she was twin sets and pearls and I was fishnet with holes and lots of black.  But, we were both perfectionists, both graduated Summa Cum Laude and were both invited to be in the small group for the Advanced Fashion Design program.   It was a wonderful night and we got to see several people who were part of our FIDM experience.

As I watched the show, it brought back memories of school, memories of our show 25 years ago.  That night was one of the highest moments of my life.  I got to see the creations I had conceived and created showcased on a runway, modeled by professional models in a top notch fashion show at the ballroom of the Bonaventure Hotel in downtown L.A.  It was the night of my 30th birthday, my friends and family were there and to top it off, I won the top award of the show.  As I sat watching the current young designers, it brought on the flood of memories.  I remembered the excitement, the joy, the hopes for my future.  It was bitterweet.  And I am so grateful to have had that night, that experience.  

So how does this apply to my grief?  I realized that the feelings I had that night are what I someday hope to have about Jim.  Remembering with gratitude the joy that was, with a slight sadness that those days are gone.  

The therapist pointed out that I now have a vision of what life can look like for me.  So I’m visualizing a life, where I can think of Jim without the accompanying wave of grief, loss and sorrow.  With just a tinge of sadness, mixed with gratitude.  Bitterweetness.

I actually experienced a tiny bit of that last night.  It was the Lunar eclipse.  Jim was my science guy, my mountain man.  He taught me how to sit with nature, how to observe the subtle changes.  I remember early on, watching the Perseid meteor shower together.  I remember sitting by the window in our house during a lightning storm.  We’d turn off all of the lights and watch as if watching tv.  When we first met and were camping out full time, we would watch what Jim called “Pet TV” and just watch Misty, the coyote/husky and the cats do their thing.  He taught me how to pay attention to the solstices and equinoxes.  He taught a city girl how to slow down and be.  Just be.  

Whenever I look at the sky, I picture Jim’s energy zipping around our Universe, exploring all the things he wanted to know about when he was here.  Gravity, black holes, anti-matter.  He would often come out of his workroom with “I’ve been thinking” and we’d end up in some weird discussion about gravity.... It’s weird the things you miss when someone is gone.  

So last night as I sat there with my Mom, watching the wonder of nature, the beautiful Blood Moon.  Mars nearby and bright.  I missed Jim.  I was sad he wasn’t there to share it with.  But I was grateful that we had so many times like that together and grateful that I cared about watching the Lunar eclipse.  Jim’s gift to me.

Journey Through the Wasteland

This one's a little different.  But it's been floating around the past several nights as I tried to go to sleep.  So I wrote it.  And today rewrote it.  There's probably a few more rewrites, but I thought I'd just put it out there and not obsess too much.

JOURNEY THROUGH THE WASTELAND

Lost in a fog, unable to see anything, wrapped in a murky cloak of grief.  The cloak was simultaneously a cloud swirling around her, blocking out any light, and heavy as lead, weighting her down so that it was difficult to move.  It squeezed her tight, she was only able to take shallow breaths.  She struggled to take deep breaths, the voices outside kept telling her to breathe.  Sometimes she would manage a deep breath and the grief would pour in, a mist of fine black cinders burning into her bringing her to her knees from the shock and pain.   She was unable to loosen the cloak, it had its job to do.  It protected her from the miasma of despair, the pain reminded her she was still alive as she blindly wandered through the dense, gray fog, unable to see any light, any way out.  She often stumbled and fell, the breath knocked out of her, all she could do was lie there sobbing.  Eventually she would get back to her feet, weighted down by her mantle,  and begin to walk again.  She walked and she walked, unable to see, no landmarks to refer to, she often was not sure if she was going anywhere or just walking circles.  In the distance she heard the voices of those who loved her, calling to her.  Muffled by the fog, she was unsure where they were, where to go.  But she continued to move, because even if she was going in circles, there was still hope that she could find her way out.

Eventually, the cloak began to loosen.  Just a bit, but enough for her to breathe normally again.  Sometimes she would still inhale a cloud of burning cinders and still it would bring her to her knees, sobbing from the pain.  But it happened less and she had become accustomed to it.  She would rest a bit and then struggle back to her feet to continue walking.  And either the cloak had become lighter, or she had become stronger, or maybe a combination of the two, but she no longer felt like she was being crushed.  She tired easily and had to frequently rest, but getting up and moving was no longer such a struggle.  

The fog began to lift, just a bit.  At first she felt relieved.  At last there was something she could see.  Then despair set in, all she saw was a colorless, desolate wasteland, as if a volcano had erupted, burning away all life.  Tree stumps stood eerily throughout and everything was covered in a fine gray ashen dust.   Disconsolate, she collapsed.  Hope for sunshine and life had kept her moving, she had thought if only the fog could lift, she could find her way out.  Grief blanketed her as she lie there, curled up crying, the gut wrenching sobs of heartbreak and anguish, of hopelessness.  She remained there for a very long time, sapped of hope, sapped of strength, exhausted to the core of her being.  She rested and slept dreamlessly.  One day she heard faint calls, once again the voices of those that loved her.  They had not given up on her, they called to her, doing what they could to guide her back into the sunshine.  

Once again, she rose to her feet, something inside her would not let her quit, would not let her give up.  So she stood, her legs shaky.  She began a slow walk.  This time, without the fog distorting the sounds, she could hear the voices a little more clearly.  She was able to see the obstacles and walk around them or climb over them.  She left footprints in the ashes and knew she was not walking in circles, although sometimes she had to double back and circle around to find her way out.  And little by little, her inner guide came back to life, whispering in her head where to go.  She walked.  Up hills, down valleys, up mountains.  Sometimes the fog would return, but it was just in spots and she was able to keep moving forward.  The landscape remained bleak, mostly dead and lifeless.  But every so often, she could hear birdsong, feel a warm breeze, she would spot a small green sprout and she knew she was moving closer and closer to the land of the living.  She wore the cloak of grief more loosely now.  It would always be with her.  Sometimes she still inhaled the burning cinders, they still caused pain and tears, but it no longer caused the shock.  Most of the time she could breathe normally and even deeply without the burning pain, but when it came, she knew she could survive it.  The voices of those she loved, those that loved her, became louder and clearer.  The journey had stripped her down, forced her deep within, made her stronger and she knew that when she returned, she would have stories, stories that could help others when they were forced on the journey through their own wasteland.