Saturday Quandary

The last three days have exhausted my energy, but I can hardly imagine resting. So I am here in hopes of clearing my mind – and thence my body. Allowing myself to be so immersed in the lives of my children – and their problems – has left me feeling smothered and bleary-eyed. The promise connected with earlier in the week appears to have fled, burrowing down again, not yet strong enough to compete with the onslaught of information and woe. How is it that the very real compassion felt for a child or grandchild – and the very real willingness to listen and offer some insight – leaves me feeling defeated, starving for some sort of succor that can only come after several days recovery. I rise, and the cycle begins again.

Today, as the cries of others recede, my own cries are slowly finding their way to the surface. It will take some time to be fully aware of their value. At the moment they take the form of soggy weariness. I cannot rejoice in their deeper truth. Not yet. I can only be vaguely conscious that they do have value. Will there ever be time enough to welcome them fully into the light of day.

Last night I dreamt yet again of being in Paris. It had been a familiar and satisfying sojourn, but then on the homeward flight, a precipitous dive of the aircraft, a fearful plummet. Passengers screamed in panic, certain of crashing. I, too, was aware of imminent disaster, bracing myself for that which did not happen. The plane leveled off and climbed again. We breathed again, as things seemed normal. Yet, not really… The man next to me leaned over and confessed that he had payed the pilot to do this stunt that he might claim injury and sue the airline. But it hadn’t worked and the pilot might try again. I should be prepared.

So how does a person fully relax if the plane may plummet again at any moment? Here is the question of the day, and it helps to ask it. In fact, asking it feels almost like a prayer. The answer might come.


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