The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing

12/31/16

7:19AM

Authenticity

A

S?

S

Hey, A. 

A

How was your day, your night, your morning now too?

S

I’m trying to get my head around this journey—this December journey. It feels as if I’ve traveled many miles. 

A

We are always traveling. 

S

I’m beginning to register that. 

A

We went from before Thanksgiving, our tinkering, tight editing to, right after Thanksgiving, painfully rejecting our tinkering. 

We were done trying to take thirty books and make them one, done sitting exclusively in a narrator’s tone, done with this phase. 

Pain and grief were our guides, telling us that we needed to splash the paint that is our self onto a larger canvas. To stop with the shrinking of ourself and our story into a dry narration. 

Or, to continue along with the fairytale that helps us explain us to us, we are the lonely man in the forest that is filled up with paintings that he paints with all his heart. 

The man has grown his skills and talents but his loneliness seems to have grown the most. He wants so desperately to show the world who he is, how he paints, what he has done and is doing every day. 

He decides, after Thanksgiving, to rent space in the center of town for a gallery. 

And he begins his journey to curate his work. 

S

Right. 

A

He begins generally by choosing paintings he just knows must be there, but as time goes by he also starts shaping the rooms in his gallery. 

S

This was when we were in Hawaii as I began to figure out sections of the website; they kept changing—more rapidly than now—I’ve been stable with my navigation now for a few weeks. 

A

Right. 

S

At some point I—or the man—we grow despondent with the exercise. There is despair—that it’s all for naught, that no one cares. 

I dreamed last night

That I could fly

But no one cared

So neither did I

But there is something inside that keeps me driving forward and I cannot not listen to it. 

A

Right. 

S

After working hard each day I started to break down—about a week ago. And after six months of not looking at a thing, and looked up Eileen and her daughter’s stuff online; it was like a punch to my emotional gut—a trip back in time—two years of agony registering and clanging inside me. 

A

And…did we work through what it was like to see this ex-therapist online—and her daughter the professional victim/healer?

S

It is hard to sum up as one thing. It all reminded me of the pain, of the years I spent looking every day at that stuff and having it hurt me and not knowing why and also being unable to really stop myself from looking at it. 

A

Until we stopped looking at it. 

S

Right. I finally did stop. 

A

So what was it like revisiting one night what we experienced every day for years?

S

It reminded me of how deep down I will never forget and probably never really forgive. I’d prefer this reflection of myself of being healed—like I want my narrative around this painful therapy to be past tense but it’s not.

I do not want to hold on, do not want to attach myself to being a victim, do not wish to be what I perceive her daughter to be…a victim who makes a life and living out of her trauma. 

But there is a truth to being a victim, knowing it, owning it and integrating it into everything you are—I am. 

A

What else?

S

Holding that pain, remembering what happened, realizing it’s there but that I’ve also moved on quite a bit too…it’s all just…truth. 

A

How does it feel, per our transcript yesterday, to sit with what feels like nothing in our hands—nothing productive to show for our pain, no book to throw at Eileen, for example.

S

That too, seems to be this ebb and flow—hurts enormously one day or for several days in a row and then it fades. 

My Sandbox, and how I feel about it, ebbs and flows. 

This piece, my Sandbox Confidence, is…huge. And so elusive—for so long so elusive. 

It is one of those silver fish that swims quickly, that I can see but can’t quite catch. 

Do I have the tiger by the tail? This mediation on trauma, dissociation, a therapy car crash? 

Or am I just some crazy person ranting. 

A

Yes. 

S

All I know to do is to do my practice, to continue to listen to the tick of my own heart and have faith that it ultimately will show the rest of me the way. 

A

It’s been a long December. We open up our gallery in town and as we hang our work we are able to reflect and see self differently. 

MLG

We leap off the page

And onto a site

It’s a stage in our journey

We begin to take flight

S

I think this is truth; splashing paint up onto a canvas that is limitless and public if I wish is my path. 

A

We allow our voice to be heard. 

MLG

A long December

We loosen our muzzle

We see how this helps

In resolving our puzzle

Confidence up

Or confidence down,

We continue to work

On our gallery in town.