The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing



8:13 AM



I woke this morning at about 4:30 AM; I’m pretty sure that my body said to start getting used to it — that we will be in Barcelona soon and the time will be changing on us. 


I woke, also, again with this deep sadness—pain that seems to be coaxing me to cry, every morning, but without success. Things have felt so buried, I can’t seem to bring myself to capitulate, to give in and allow this grief to break the surface and to release. 


It’s been a nightmare, I conclude. A wrenching, endless nightmare. Painful to the point of wishing myself away from my self, a wish for me to die so that the pain, too, dies along with me. 


But as we get to the airport, check in and get seated, as we take off, finally, in flight, oddly, unexpectedly, I feel my spirit soar. The Not Gods seem to have plans for me I did not expect. 


Away, literally up into the clouds, I can feel my spirit lift. And, with that, come the tears. Mixed tears, feeling like heaven and thick dirty blood dripping onto my cheeks. 


It’s been a nightmare, I conclude. But my nightmare. 


Finally, I am allowed to be … me. To express what has lived for so long inside of me. And along with this allowance, the creative expression that roars and cries out and flows like red hot endless lava, clay feet that grow larger, heavier, volume upon volume in my Sandbox heading toward four thousand pages, I see the force in my own self as I rise up, finally, above these beautiful clouds, into a sky that says I am allowed … I have paid the price, bought my ticket and finally … I am here. 


The tears come now, as I rise above the confusion I’ve been living in for seventeen months. Oh, Not Gods, have mercy on me and on everyone whose state of mind has been like mine. Give them the strength to persevere, grant them the faith to believe that things will get better — that they’ll get their first-class ticket some day — and that they deserve this seat in the heavens.


Not Gods, I must confess the enormous shame in my therapy, in my perplexing anger, my unending sadness and lack of what feels like ability to find clarity. The surface of my ocean is smooth, accomplished … strong even. But beneath how ashamed I am of my Sandbox where I cannot seem to deliver to myself my happy ending, where I find only a thick wall between me and any sense of relief. 


But this morning, oh this morning … as I fly above the clouds … joy. 


Unexpected … joy. 



You have suffered enough, S. Time for a first-class ticket up and away. First flight … first row … first class. 



Pete sits behind us. We feel his love tickling our back. 



I can’t stop crying. 



It’s been a rough go, S. But it’s been your go, and you are going … places.