A metaphor: A small volume of something vital, pure, beautiful, and surprisingly powerful is hiding in a fragile vessel--one that can slice if chipped or shattered.
A reminder: One way to combat this, or perhaps negotiate with it on an ongoing basis, is to establish rituals that elevate the ordinary. These embroider tiny ties to earth, people, sanity, and self.
A rule: The goal is to move away from coping mechanisms (automatic, thoughtless, and potentially desperate and harmful) and toward coping strategies (deliberate, constructive, and healthy). This includes a continued commitment to avoiding hazards I've already identified. Safe equivalents exist.
I write this in a spirit of hope greater than what I feel. But that is why I'm doing this. I need a place to grieve, to scream, and to wrestle with this through (often mixed) metaphor and art but also to synthesize information and to begin drawing a map for myself. It won't be a map out of here. I have to learn how to travel and travel on as the terrain and weather change. Right now, I'm cheekbone-deep in rain and mud, and I'm too wet, tired, and wind-sliced blind to climb. If I don't start some kind of swim, I will drown.
No comments:
Post a Comment