“The work is to keep doing the work.”
When I read that in Estés’ Women Who Run With Wolves I felt some kind of relief. It makes it ok to never actually be ok, or more accurately to never reach an end-point of okness. When you are ok it’s fleeting and when you’re not, you will be again sometime.
The gathering and loosing of money, opportunities, love, people, possessions, resolve, confidence, hope etc happens. Ebb and flow.
All or nothing.
Calm in a crisis.
Hungry for company/solitude.
Accumulation and loss, of course, go hand in hand.
The accumulation of detritus is breaking the sea/land, & pollution the air we breath. And so it is true on a personal level.
When I draw I’m really looking. It’s chance to be offline, to be alone, and for a change, to actually be alive.
The here and now.
Remembering is like the opposite of dismembering, it is reassembling the parts, bringing the past back to life; a time, a place, an event, a loved one. It’s kind of morbid, potentially traumatic.
English doesn’t seem to have a word other than ‘to miss’. Such an inadequate verb. To miss is like a full body dip, a submersion into the absence of a past that feels like a right or a part of you. And then after the remembrance, you have to be severed all over again. Another dismemberment.
Missing is like a visceral re-membering of the past, a past which made me who I am. The re-membering is melting and distorting and becoming more and more inaccurate with each revisit. Like a photocopy of a photocopy, it looses definition each time until I’m remembering the rememberings and I am entirely inauthentic and lost.