Day 692: Mixed Cursings

Times of mental suffering are times of long-term blessing, in the end. That’s not to say that they’re a thing to be aspired to, or to spend too much of life on, only that their discomfort is not in itself a sign of wrongness.

I know I’m rephrasing what the Buddhists say and countless spiritual teachers. My aim is not to be original, but to get this out somehow and to express something, make sense of it with words. And I’m also aware that I won’t be winning any trophies for accepting where I’m at right now. I have not scored my personal best at that these last few weeks.

If time were other shapes

I am not myself and not my best right now. What I’m finding hard to stomach, in a very physical way, is that this is still me. This is what you get. 

I am not photoshop perfect, not even close. I’m not always nice or wise or reasoned. I’m not always a person I want to be around, but here it is, this doughy mix of undercookedness that I am in this moment. It’s what makes the tasty cake. 

And if we let linear time burn off like steam, it could be said that this is a necessary part of being, with time wrapped around it, or weaving in and out.

Go and see Arrival for a beautiful examination of linear time (and language, communication, love). That’s an aside, but take it to heart, treat yourself, go.

I am blessed-afflicted with a physical illness, a virus that has wiped the floor with me and keeps dunking me back, a dirty rag on the end of a stick, into the grey, filthy bucket for another rinse. I’m not able to eat properly – and that in itself is an education. 

I’m robbed of unhealthy comfort – I physically can’t swallow this emotion back down with food, because my body will reject it if I do. I must just feel it in all its acidity and give thanks for the awareness this is giving me. How often do I swallow down what’s going on inside me with a coffee, a cake, a something to draw the presence away from unpleasantness. Thank you… it took this.

Maybe I’ve taken sugar and spice to heart too deeply. It is not all I am. My mind, that sneaky labyrinth-weaver, tells me that nobody in all of time would ever have called me nice, but I know from out-of-body distance that this cannot be true, it’s just my thoughts, sirens of distraction, leading me off to crash upon the rocks instead of follow the course I set.

It is all part of this great symphony. Without discordance, harmonies can slip into saccharine, bland soundtracks. Wake me up with contrast, so I taste the notes that intertwine at pleasing intervals in all their sweetness, every one a gift.

Thank you Lilley, Ben, David, Rob. Thank you, Ruth, for your patience, care and generosity. It can’t be easy having this half-cooked creature in your home right now, and I am very, very grateful that you do.