tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7329909205318849260.post3330805799780339467..comments2023-09-09T03:38:04.449-05:00Comments on The Journey: Have I Learned it YetThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18380668510627470489noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7329909205318849260.post-75882161138867173652010-06-08T22:17:38.391-05:002010-06-08T22:17:38.391-05:00Tamar-
Thinking of you on this rainy, chilly even...Tamar-<br /><br />Thinking of you on this rainy, chilly evening in Madison.<br /><br />MeganWild Plum Mosaicshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00843422711942463114noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7329909205318849260.post-71856410307417685882010-06-08T11:59:30.655-05:002010-06-08T11:59:30.655-05:00Hey T,
So, the last couple posts feel hard and re...Hey T,<br /><br />So, the last couple posts feel hard and real. Thanks for sharing what's up, especially the letter to the universe. I get it; I've only been doing my own struggle for 6 months, and I'm really sick of it already. I'm bumping into my own anger, frustration, etc. and spent half an hour the other night, after sitting on the sidewalk outside a gas station shaking and feeling like shit in the middle of the night, and then needing to get back in the goddamn car for another two hours in order to get to a bed railing at God. It's the first time I've let myself go there.<br /><br />Laird talked about my being sick in a go-around this weekend, and he was so sweet and sad and vulnerable, and admitted that it brings up deeper fears about me dying. So here I am contemplating it all more directly and, finally, more openly. On the train this morning, the two women behind me were talking about fears, and so I decided to write. Here's what came out:<br /><br />I am afraid of dying. Of finishing incomplete. I fear the sure thing.<br />I am discontent, always. There is not enough, I've not been enough, done enough, said enough to feel content.<br />I am content with steady progress, evolution, forward movement--but only if I think I'll be there for the end.<br /><br />I am afraid of death, especially slow death, where I can bear witness to my own incompletion, where regret can taint the letting go.<br /><br />I fear the dying moment--that no matter how prepared I am, how good the life, I will cling to it at that last second and leave parts of me to haunt the people I love.<br />I fear my own mind, and the seeming inevitability of it interfering in a good death. I fear to have my last experience be the yammering objections of my own consciousness.<br /><br />I fear the slow breakdown of my own body, the rising of illness to consume my being, my attention, every last scrap of goodwill. I fear my own bitterness, that I'd become, as the final chapter of a good, giving life: hard, cold, fear-bound and angry. I fear watching myself lash out at the good, at love, and not being able to stop myself because my own joy has deserted me.<br /><br />I don't fear the unknown of death; I fear what I know of myself being magnified by hardship, pain, fatigue. I fear having others witness my falling apart and falling into the worst traps of pettiness and hatred that tempt me even now.<br /><br />I fear dying because I think I'd discover all the wasted chances, and that knowledge haunts me already. I'd die applying the club of judgement to my own head; I live already applying it and trying, futily, to root out imperfection before it is too late.<br /><br />It is too late. I'm already half gone in my fear, already killing my best years and brightness on the greedy cloud of suspicion that I'll never be enough.<br />++++++<br /><br />I'm not sure why I'm sending it to you. I don't want to add to you struggles or depress you... but I figure we're in community together and sharing what's up rarely seems like the wrong call.<br /><br />I love you... MMaikwenoreply@blogger.com