This missive is a first step back toward the space from which I'd previously written. I'm not in there yet (please forgive me), but at least I've taken the keys out of my pocket, knocked on the door and heard my inquiry echo inside.
Almost 2 years since I last wrote.
I've been becoming. Again.
Such a long trip.
Worth it?
Well there wasn't much choice in the matter. Grow or die. Ouch.
Now I can dream of a Future again. It's not just about Survival anymore.
(I smile)
Now Possibility is something I can contemplate again, a material to work with, an old, familiar modus operandi. What to do? Who to be?
Reading back over this word journey, I see my progression and most heartening, I see myself writing through the pain. What I don't feel is the mental emotional turmoil and excruciating physicality that was my existence 24/7/365 x 5. Oh, I'm so happy for that.
5 years since the crash. 5 years since that breath inhaled and held, waiting for safety to assert itself again before exhaling. Waiting for assurance that the spinning was done. Not unlocking the body until the coast was clear.
It never is.
We have to release despite the normal state of things. Which is turmoil. Perhaps the trick is in finding a point of view where the ever present turmoil just isn't front and centre. Where, while we're aware of it for us and for others, it doesn't block our view of The Good.
No.
Sometimes, one is just stopped dead. Blinded.
No matter how strong the will. Sometimes, things are just too terrible, too painful, too broken to stand up straight.
And then.
Well, acceptance.
That's what it is.
It's 5 years since the crash. 5 years of complete uncertainty as to what would return of my former self. As to what would reconfigure into new selves that would supplant and replace each other, replant and supplace, on their own private timetable, over the months. Years.
A willingness to see what wants to appear.
Who.
Who I am has become more stable. Not in terms of neurotic or not, but in terms of constellation of Self. Now, I notice how different I have become over the months, rather than over the weeks. The changes are less dramatic and less rapid.
But I'm still plastic.
I think we all are. And I hope that none of you are ever occasioned to realize this in such an, well, impactful way.
I've been tempered. My metal crushed and tested.
Hmm.
A passing grade. Grow or die.
Reconfiguring.
Growing.
