Tuesday, April 21, 2009

it all comes crumbling down

One of these days I was bound to crack open, spilling over this thing called denial. Try as one might, one cannot package up emotions like the plethora of official forms and documents I must fill out. One can't simply lick the envelope and deposit it away, to be processed by someone else at some later date. A date that's convenient to the one who's job it is to deal with all this stuff.

As an artist I'm naturally very messy. Art and creativity art about making a 'masterpiece' out of a mess. So, of course, in my daily life I try to control my surroundings, my affect, my response. My life is "neatly" gathered up in one vinyl-covered black date book I carry with me everywhere. I would be lost without it because the true me is such a free-spirit that without that book I wouldn't know what day it is most of the time or where to be. (That's the draw back being a satellite instructor). I suppose that's why I haven't "had the time" to really experience how I feel about all this illness and mortality stuff, except in the short bursts of breath, or in prayer. Lately, I've stopped praying - too much sadness. I don't blame G-d at all. I don't think I have since I was little and didn't have full comprehension of my health. My rabbi asked me where G-d is in all of this. I told him point blank: "right here, I'm the one that runs away". I haven't been able to make myself schedule some "reflection time" (or, runaway time) because you just can't force that.

I can however, return to my old tool: driving. Not the kind of city driving I do: going to and from work, school, meetings, appointments etc. with all the starting and stopping that completely obliterates any possibility of reflection. The kind of driving I'm referring to is the long-distance, usually Montreal bound driving that I miss. I spent most of my 20s on the highway between here and there, literally. And for occasions when I needed more reflection time it was TO bound down the 401. Stereo in car, good tunes, some snacks and the sun at my back, the thinking and reflection would begin.

I've been wound up so tight since January, trying to keep everything so organized that I was bound to just get into the car and fall apart in the privacy of my little Honda if I drove for longer than 30 minutes. And that I did. And it's by the grace of Sh-kinah that I'm still alive. I don't know what's worse, driving in a hail storm (and after 20 years of driving experience, I've had my fair share) or trying to see through copious amounts of tears.
I'll take the hail any day. Tears have repercussions - and you have to deal with the flow that's already started.

Why can't I just suck it up and deal with the cards I've been dealt, so to speak? That approach isn't working out as well as I've planned. I'm human, and I'm suffering. There's nothing anyone can do to stop it and there's nothing I can do to change it. It's a long journey that I didn't buy the tickets for but suddenly told I'm going to go on. I can't even pack with excitement because it's like going to the very last place you'd ever want to go to, and not coming back. That's all I can think to keep from going completely insane. Clean up, finish up projects, fix the house as if I'm selling and picture moving...on.