Hello All,
For a little over four months, I’ve been dwelling with a series of health problems and well a malaise that thrust me into a shadowed place within my spirit. My heart. My mind.
During that time, my brother and sister-in-law rushed me to emergency, and I stayed overnight in the hospital—some thirty-six hours of wondering exactly what was happening or had happened or would happen.
However, out of that experience came an epiphany—one that I’m unable to share fully at this point because its ramifications are still making themselves known in my life.
I’m posting today to let you know why, since mid-November, I’ve been away from reading your blogs and posting on my own . Several months ago, I began a downward spiral on the slippery slope of self-doubt. I wasn’t clinically depressed. (I learned and experienced what that is when I was in my thirties.)
However, I did begin to feel “low.” To be “down in the dumps.” To cease to “live in the moment,” “to go with the flow,” “to look for the good” in all that was happening.
Throughout my life, when my body has experienced ill-health. Or my spirit has deflated like a carnival balloon. Or my mind has lost itself in the brambles of my thoughts. Or my heart has ceased to follow my bliss—as Joseph Campbell encouraged us all to do. Always during those times of drought, I’ve let go of reaching out to friends and taking care of myself.
Translation: I let myself dwell in my own shadows rather than reach out to discover what was happening with my friends. That is, in my self-absorption, I forgot that friendship can open doors for us. I forgot what I know so well—that to be open to the lives and concerns, the health and pain, the triumphs and joy of others could lead me out of my alienation from myself. It could lead me from the desert in which I wandered to the lush green of wonder and gratitude.
Also, during those four months, I had no interest in food or eating and so lost a number of pounds. I always wear loose-fitting clothing and a lot of it! In the winter, I layer: turtleneck, sweatshirt, down-filled vest or hoodie. Lots of loose clothing that effectively covers both weight gain and weight loss.
I tell you all this because the epiphany of just a few days ago is leading me to the green pastures that awaited me if only I’d let myself trust the words of Julian of Norwich, “All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be exceedingly well,” and those of Teresa of Avila, “Fear not.”
The darkest part of my malaise was the belief that I would never write another book—whether memoir, cat tales, or novel. I began to grieve for this gift that had been given me as a child—this gift of imagination and connection.
Months ago, I began to grapple with this fear. It grew like a ganglion. Its tenacles squeezed my most cherished beliefs about myself.
I tell you now that in the epiphany given to me by the Holy Oneness of All Creation—all those who raised me, taught me, and befriended me—came a new belief. A belief that if my writing is for the good of the Universe, the words and story will be freely given to me.
Amen and so be it and so it is.
Peace
PS: I haven’t figured out how to respond to any comments you leave. Moreover, I can’t figure out how to leave comments on some of your blogs. Please just know that you are all in my thoughts and prayers and beliefs that all—somehow—works out to good.
