Saturday, August 6, 2011

After the light



The fog is here this morning. No sunbeam had a chance at 7 a.m. After the fact, I'm even more grateful to have seen the glowing band I wrote of on Monday. As the week, possibly the month, set about revealing their distinctive characteristics, a finger of light pointing to my neglected studio (thoughts of Indiana Jones in the Well of Souls...I make no apologies) seemed to be an even stronger push than I'd first thought.

My life is moments. Some stand alone as though in soliloquy, a scene from OUR TOWN. Others attach themselves to similar events and form a chain. All have meaning, if only to say be, or be here, try to learn the secret of not squandering any part of now. Among the parcels that arrived with the sun-sent message is an awfully large serving of very old business and its near-death grip on a portion of my spirit, trying to defend its spurious claim on me like the fool who decides to be his own lawyer.

That fairy tales might be teachers is a recent awareness. Some of us fell asleep long ago, the briars grew thick and choked off knowing, presence, participation. We wake up, if we are fortunate, as soon as we can but need a bit longer to gain our bearings, then additional time to grieve for what we lost or missed while under the malignant spell. I keep thinking the hard work has been done and I keep being surprised. This may be a day to reread some Joseph Campbell and remind myself how the hero does survive the journey.

8 comments:

Melissa Green said...

Dear Marylinn, there are things of enormous import happening. Waking up after being under a spell is so difficult--bewildering, disorienting, grief-inducing, fury-unleashing. One can thank the good in the universe that one has awoken, late as it is, but the aftermath of "they lived happily ever after" is the worst twist to the spell of "once upon a time.' Being awake, an seeing that time has past, that briars have grown up around the windows, and to discover you are no longer a young beauty but a woman of a certain age--the hero, the warrior, the Saxon queen with a gold breastplate--the only way out is through. In fairy tales. In hero tales. In life. The dark night is very dark. But it is not eternal. xo

Marylinn Kelly said...

Melissa - Your words give reassurance, along with the fact that there have been darker nights. Goose that I am, I think at a certain age, the rocks have all been turned over, the cans of worms opened, it is all out on the table, and that is not so. Perhaps the best thing about being older when reality comes to call is having reached a place of at least periodic tranquility; it seems there is more to hang onto.

Penelope said...

Marylinn, how often what you've written chimes with my own experience. The slow (ongoingly) awakening. Thank you.

Laoch of Chicago said...

Have you ever read Sheldon Kopp's book, "If You Meet the Buddha on the Road, Kill Him."

Marylinn Kelly said...

Penelope - I am glad that we stride along in step. I trust there is purpose greater than I know in receiving such information so late in the day. Thank you.

Marylinn Kelly said...

Laoch - I have not read this book, but can appreciate the title for awareness does not always feel like a welcome guest.

Jayne said...

Joseph Campbell for inspiration. I love that man.

After years of sleeping, I'm most certainly trying "to learn the secret of not squandering any part of now." But I've not yet solved the puzzle. Seems the older I get, the more of a puzzle it is. Perhaps, it is because now I actually give it thought? Which... may be one of those graces of aging.

Marylinn Kelly said...

Jayne - The daily process of rearranging the pieces, re-ordering the list, is an imperative to which I had not given any thought. Now, as I speak of it to myself, each day tells me what it will be and I surrender to that. We are, in fact, molecules, energy, much of it forming itself into water...how can we NOT flow through our hours? I love Joseph Campbell; there is a man who could bring the pieces together. And, it is all a mystery. xo