Tag Archives: presence

Happiness, Sadness: Words that Die in my Hands

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Making space for creative expression supports me to reconnect with a sense of innate self dignity. But over and over I choose to put my attention elsewhere. Is my sense of self-worth so threatening that I feel compelled to spend my time, mental energy and life force in ways that negate dignity?

I’ve been stewing, brooding, bemoaning, stressing out and feeling incredibly stuck, fragmented and confused for the better part of this year. Writing and sharing that writing are supportive metabolic practices that nourish my emotional, mental and perhaps even physical health. Yet I’ve felt incapable of creating anything cohesive or complete or compelling with words. My soul feels battered around by time and the state of our world. As Kronos marches forward, more and more events happen and the number of ideas and experiences I wish to weave into these posts grows. Thoughts accumulate and overwhelm every corner of my mind and heart. Each time I come to the page, it’s as if the words — so alive in the moment they arose as thoughts — have perished in my hands, leaving just ash and bones behind.

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50

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I am now 50 years old. 

Things have not unfolded the way I planned or would have liked for this “big” birthday. The gifts I am receiving include hard lessons in surrendering control, expectation and entitlement. I see how the values of our smooth, shiny, superficial western modernity have left me wildly ill-equipped to navigate the grief and pain of this world (a world steeped in the very same value-systems, cosmovisions and ontologies). Over the past week, I’ve been offered repeated opportunities to abide with profound sadness and a sense of existential dread that just will not go away. Let’s face it: the fantasies of being separate, individualized cogs in the productivity machine of late-stage capitalism are crumbling; the illusions we’ve been led to believe about what constitutes success and what leads to happiness are rapidly disintegrating. To be passing into menopause and experiencing the emotional and hormonal storms of this life-stage at the same time that the world is facing such violent upheaval, destruction, rage and oppression is almost too much for my system to handle. I’m on the brink of a huge rupture. Or maybe I’m already in it.

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The Mystery & The Miracle

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Twelve hours passed between the mid-day visit to the doctor’s office confirming that Rafael was no longer alive inside my womb and the beginning of full-on labor. That time was both sacred and a total scramble of consciousness and memory. I had several realizations during those hours that I have come to see as “Truths” (for me) in the months since Rafa’s death. I now live with the lessons that came to me during that precious time as guiding principles. One of them has to do with the mystery and miracle of life itself.

After the doctor’s office, I asked my midwife to drop Yeyo and I off at my parents’ hotel. My mom and dad had come to Oaxaca from Salt Lake City for the birth. Once we had delivered the devastating news, we sat stunned on the uncomfortable couches in their condo-style hotel room. I think it was then that my wise husband said, “We have to remember that this little baby was a miracle. His very existence has no medical explanation.” Followed by: “And why he died is a mystery. It’s something we will never understand.”

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