The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing





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.


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


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. 


Allow the pain, allow the awareness.



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. 


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