Posts Tagged ‘sorrow’
Spending Time
A zone of mental energy resonates when a jigsaw puzzler hits their stride and loses track of the world while reassembling an image, one piece at a time. I’m one of those who enjoy that mental resonation, yet I sometimes question the value of the outcome merely being a picture that will soon be disassembled and returned to a box and stored out of sight.
I recently discovered that I experience a similar mental energy reward by digging up weeds from the gravel portion of the driveway loop around the hay shed. In some ways, it provides a more powerful reward than jigsaw puzzling because the activity results are not then stored in a box on a shelf.
Every time I go past that weeded gravel and see how much better it looks, I enjoy a bonus reward from the previous effort. There is also a bonus brought on by time. The puzzle is never-ending because in no time at all, there will be new weeds available for pulling.
Actually, that image might make for a good challenge in a jigsaw puzzle.
On a rainy day when still in shock from an unanticipated dose of grief, losing myself in a repetitive routine task offers a welcome respite. It’s hard to tell if the body aches I experience at the end of the day come more from activity or sorrow.
When the heart hurts, a whole lot of the rest of us hurts, too.
.
.
Relative Sadness
There is an aspect of grief that I visualize as wrestling an octopus. You can be engaged in the action for an immeasurable amount of time without ever having a clue if you’ve come close to pinning his shoulders to the mat.
Where the heck are octopus shoulders, anyway?
I’d love for nothing more than to have an official slapping their hand down to declare the match complete, or at least to call time on the end of a round. The clock never runs out though, and the round goes on endlessly while grief and I just keep wrestling and wrestling.
It occurred to me yesterday that I was somewhat unconsciously avoiding going out to the barn since last Sunday when Legacy’s life ended there. It’s a struggle, because I normally find great comfort in standing among the horses, but there is currently a profound disturbance of energy here. I’m feeling little capacity toward consoling our other horses and even less confidence in my ability to contain my own sorrow while in their midst.
Between the understandable waves of tearful sadness, there remain the troughs of intangible gloom. I recognize that space well.
It defined the bulk of my adolescent and early adult life, which was shrouded by dysthymia.
At least now I am armed with much greater knowledge and understanding of the dynamics of these mental squalls, and I recognize the current grief casting a pall over our lives is completely situational. There is unending love cradling our sorrow and it is nurturing our healing and growth.
After Cyndie and I walked Delilah around the property yesterday afternoon, we all ventured to the barn to look in on the horses.
I worry they might be feeling neglected after the intense attention paid to Legacy, and then his sudden departure followed by this incredible void.
They seem to me to be in a state of shock. All we can do for each other is vibrate our energy of sorrow and loss.
I’m not crying; you’re crying.
Dezirea actually stepped away from me, as if she couldn’t handle my grief. Hunter and Cayenne tolerated my attempts to give them some loving scratches, but I didn’t get a sense that either of the three of us felt much solace out of the exchange.
Cyndie spent a little more time with Dezirea. I think Dezi seems particularly sad. I am wondering if she is feeling some stress over the possibility she will inherit the ultimate responsibility of a leadership role, being the elder mare. It could just as easily be filled by any one of them, or maybe they will devise a perfect balance of power across all three.
It’s just that the four horses that were organized into a little herd over five years ago worked out so tremendously. They were a band. An ever-shifting combination of two sets of two. It was incredibly, preciously perfect.
Beyond our ability to fully appreciate when they first arrived.
Now they’ll never be able to get the band back together again…
.
Aww, here comes another slippery hold from that octopus, dagnabbit.
.
.
.
Relative Something 