For the past few weeks, ever since my Mom started her downward spiral health-wise, right through to her passing away, and ever since, I have been living in a semi conscious state of frustration, pain and grief. Yesterday I was shocked into opening my eyes to something other than my internal darkness.
With death come all sorts of practical needs that have to be filled. Legal steps that have to be taken that necessitate a practical, pragmatic attitude to get things done. I have been sucked into that vortex to start the legal ball rolling. So yesterday I had to go down town to have a Power of Attorney issued to my lawyer to enable him start the procedures. A tiresome, paralyzingly boring procedure that only I can do. So I started early to try to get everything that needed doing finished at one go. The first shock came on stepping outside the door. The weather was gorgeous, the sun bright, the air fresh and crisp, but the most shocking of all was the achingly beautiful flowers, colorfully blooming everywhere. I gasped! When did all this happen? The shock to my system when attacked by all this beauty, brightness and color forced me to close my eyes and scurry back into my shadowed mind. Cautiously I opened my eyes again and very tentatively started taking in small bits and pieces of my surroundings.
It was at this moment that the full meaning of a line in a poem by T.S. Elliot became fully clear: “April is the cruelest month of the year”. Although we are still in March, yet the sentiment stands. We are in the middle of a very violent spring. Yes, I use the adjective advisedly. The assault on the senses is quite violent, and beauty can be really painful. Elliot’s description of Spring as the cruelest season of the year is so appropriate. For after the darkness, the hibernation of the soul in a death like trance, to be violently torn out of it by light, color and beauty can be quite painful.
Pragmatism forced me into the car to start my practical journey, and this was a time out that gave me the chance to collect my badly scattered self, to start wondering at the sights, feelings that had attacked me, and to come to terms with them. The next sense to be attacked was the one of hearing. The cacophony of sounds, the hooting trucks and cars, their screaming breaks, their revving motors, people shouting to be heard above the fray, a world alive. I was starting to wake up.
Where had I been those past few weeks? How could I have missed all that was going around me? It now felt as though I was functioning in a bubble that was buried at the bottom of the sea, a dark, silent place where I was enclosed with my pain, grief and could only hear my whimpers and sobs. This bubble was pricked, and broke by a cluster of pink geraniums. I think it happened because I was ready for it to happen. My very dark place is opening up to the light, to the beauty and to the love in the world. Like a wondering child I am rediscovering the other dimensions of life, that though death is part of it, yet there are so many other aspects to it as well, that death, with all it’s cruelty, is just a part of the whole. And for me to become whole again I have to balance the picture, each part should take its rightful size and fall into its appropriate niche to form the full, harmonized picture of life.
Thank you God for giving me all these blessings, and most of all the blessings of seeing, hearing and mostly of understanding and appreciating all this. Without this I would continue for a very long time in my dark place unable to fight my way back to the surface and into the light. God please give me the courage to continue on that journey and the ability to appreciate all aspects of the life You have blessed me with.
23 Marc 2014

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