Thick trees crowded out my view of beyond. They towered over
me. Unintentionally ominous. The pines blocked my ability to see around
them. They surrounded me with their smell of of earth, wood, sap and a hint of cinnamon. I felt so small and vulnerable next to their strength. Almost swallowed up by their ability to take up so much space. Their roots expanded towards me and their branches reached above me leaving little room to ground myself.
This past Christmas Scott and Leonard and I visited Tahoe
(my first time!) It was beautiful! I was drawn in by all the blues of water and
sky but the greens kept my interest for much longer.
I kept thinking about how this past fall was like a dark
tunnel through a forest of huge looming trees. Recently Scott came home and
said, “I can see it, there is actually a clearing in the trees”
I can’t fully articulate what it’s like to have a clearing
in the middle of a dense forest after days and days and weeks and weeks and
months of stumbling our way forward. The smallest of space, the smallest
percentage of openness and good news makes all the difference.
This past fall, Scott and I found out his mom’s cancer was
back. And it was back with vengeance, with tumors gaining more and more ground.
Chemo was no longer a question, it was a statement and it was happening as soon
as possible. My sister had a scary and sudden emergency surgery over
Thanksgiving. Scott and I experience tight finances and not-so-flexible bills. I found out my best friend has a heart condition that is
irreversible and puts her at risk. I have not figured out how to talk about
this. I think I’ve been holding my breath ever since. Oh and did I mention how
my mental health was not committing to stability at this time? I cannot tell you how many times I have re-written this paragraph and if comes across unfeeling or reporter(ish) it's because it's still scary to get down on paper.
I find it’s extremely difficult to talk about the hard
stuff, the dense forest when you are walking through it. I mean, it’s great if
you get through it. That’s some positive vibes. Does anyone really want to hear
about how mirky the in-between is? How anxiety provoking it all is? It seems writing is much better looking back
at a hard time or looking ahead, not in the middle though. Being present to it
takes so much emotional energy.
So today I’m writing when I am not entirely through it but I
have experienced a little clearing in the woods. I have exhaled a fraction. The
clearing is giving me enough courage to actually write about it.
My mother-in-law gave me a book of poetry for Christmas and
one poem has stuck with me all through the holidays, into the New Year and now
into March as I keep walking among the trees of my life.
“If you stand at the edge of the forest, and stare into it,
every tree at the edge will blow a little extra oxygen toward you. It has been
proven. Leaves have admitted it. The pines I have known have been especially
candid. One said that all breath in this world is roped together, that
breathing is the most ancient language.” –Hannah Stephenson
This poem reminds me to breathe even when surrounded. I want
to befriend these trees and not close my eyes to the present.
I spend my days encouraging my clients to sit with their
feelings, hold their feelings and that there is another side to this pain.
But when I stare at my own scary, I want to do anything and
everything but feel and be and hold. I will think and analyze and dissect and
investigate but please and thank you don’t make me feel this. I will do and run
and perform and think some more but giving these trees some real attention is
risky. Will they grow even larger as I make eye contact?
I’m afraid the trees will swallow me up.
They’re so tall and large and I’m so small and helpless next to them. I’m
afraid I will become unhinged.
It’s so unfortunate that our culture has such an aversion to
suffering, grief, anxiety and hard feelings. We all want to fix everything and
quickly. None of this wait and see crap. We want results now! We all need
lessons in distress tolerance.
For now I’m holding on to the relief of a clearing. I’m
praying this crack of light can give me the courage to look at all the trees
that surround me. And when courage inevitably decides to have an early
retirement I will pray for the most ancient of languages, breathing through the
in-betweens of life.
