Noticing 2 sunshower

Woke up with a dream about a lost little Alana in an airport. In the dream I kept retracing steps down hallways and stairways and was not finding her. The panic of time running out rising. Upon waking and sitting up I said to myself “it’s not a dream. I have lost her.”

The trauma of my former wife’s childhood sexual abuse eventually resulted in the disintegration of our family. Her illness still plays out with parental alienation resulting in children lost to me.

Was this a processing of the news of Alice Munroe choosing to live with a pedophile who abused her daughter? It is a painful stab to my heart to see again how pedophilia is a dis-ease people would rather cover up than open themselves to the waves of shame. As if such abuses of our most intimate, sacred, gift of sexuality, could be healed by denial and ignorance.

Yesterday I was delighted to experience a sun shower. Both rainfall and sunshine at the same time. What a great metaphor for what poet Ross Gay captures in his “Book of Delights”. Not happy or sad but both. Like my friend David replies when asked “How are you?” He says “Happy-sad”. A sunshower.

Last week a tide of sorrow came up on the shores of my life and stayed for a week. Then it receded as it came. Without reason. Without explanation. Without cause.

Naming it is as difficult as explaining it. Depression, sadness, the black dog, noonday demon, burden of a tender soul…or just a normal reaction to a world where suffering seeps into every corner of contentment.

Was it the repressed anger I can carry only so long without it pulling the rug out from under my productivity and sense of purpose?

Was it a chemical imbalance brought on by a new prostate med?

Was it my soul’s way of helping me notice all the things I can be grateful for?
Counting my blessings.
Laughing with children. Like children.
Meals shared.
Good work.
Privileges abounding from a violent economic system that provides consumer benefits by luck of birth – being born a large, overeducated, white, hetero-male.
Etc. etc.

Counting those blessings didn’t cause the tide to go out.
Comparing my ease of living with the dis-ease of so many others – didn’t shift it.
Committing to work harder to change the way the world spins didn’t send my sadness into the flames of righteousness.

Ross Gay, in his “Book of Delights” helps me to notice – both sun and rain. I did appreciate the small and subtle kindnesses I was shown. I did give thanks to the Maker of bugs whose lifetime is measured in hours – and ancient granite cliffs that speak when I slow, slow, slow down.

I listen for clues when the tide of yesterday’s powerful sad stories crash up against the granite seemingly unchanging limits of today. But both are changed of course. The sadness finds nowhere to go but back to where it came from. And the granite is infinitesimally transformed into the sandy shoal beneath the surface.

God paints with wind, abstract designs on river’s surface.

The comfort of rain on a steel roof; feeling cozy and rested.

Twelve women beekeepers gathered in our garden sharing their passion for insects.

Delight full.

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1 Comment

  1. Ann

    You are a gifted writer, when you retire perhaps the Creator will fill you with words in n a book.


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