The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing

 

7/23/17

6:14AM

Authenticity

The leaving fish swim…in and out but they are slowing down and I can feel the leaving that was….the leaving that is. 

Friends—good friends—leaving the area and I dream one of them has caught a bus, asked me to go along, but the doors shut in front of me and the bus takes off. 

And I am…left.  

The pain runs deep and it is as if someone has thrown dye into my ocean and colored my world differently. My mood is melancholy and I can sense only these leaving fish around me. I can’t seem to grasp onto with hope the staying fish. Though there are plenty of them.

A

It is work we need to do. Grief we need to feel. 

S

I dreamed I had someone younger with me, someone I was teaching, we were some place official—a train station, jury duty—I can’t remember. But I had an altercation with a stranger who said I was ugly. I said calmly that I knew that I was ugly. And as the words came out of my mouth there was relief in this acceptance of my ugliness. In agreeing I could relax into the blow, somehow making it less painful. 

It was reminiscent of something I can’t remember. 

Perhaps how I handled physical abuse long ago. Or like yesterday at this art fair when I am put down by a stranger and easily seem to agree with their assessment to ease the blow. 

A

Allow the pain, allow the awareness.

 

S

These are two of my new fish, ones that I won't sell because I am close to them. They come alive to me like my creatures always do but with intensity this morning. 

A

Keep the faith, keep listening, keep feeling even when feeling brings pain. We are awake. We are alive.