July 19th, 2001

Brown-eyed Stare

“Every end is a beginning…”

(thank you KSF, sweetling, for the reminder.)

I had a dream last night where it ended with me driving around Saginaw, and exploring, very thoroughly, where I used to live, and for the most part, where the breakdown began. I remember bits and pieces of the dream, and even when I half-awoke, and then went back to the dream to resolve something, in an attempt to bring healing and closure. I remember seeing a couple, and going into their house, because they used to throw a party my parents attended long ago. I remember hunting for the berry bushes on the edge of Foss, and looking for the vacant lot they were in. I remember going back to houses, and looking for people long gone. And I remember going back to see my old apple tree, which was there, and how I longed to go and sit in it again (but how annoyed the people must be, my having come back several times to see the tree). But I also remember how other apple trees had been torn down, and how I kept a piece of a knot-knarl from one, intending to make something of it for myself.

And that is the point where I half-awoke, and re-entered the dream. I went back to the place where Something Happened. I talked with people in the house (even though I don’t remember them actually being there), and I told them why I’d done what I did. Then I went into the backyard, where It Happened. I went to the spot, and I dug a hole. I cried a little, and I smiled, for the healing I knew that would take place. And I dropped a malachite and a rose quartz into the hole, and covered them again with earth, patting it down.

I’ve been back there, to see that child before, and to try and re-model the scene. But I’d never gone back to just offer healing at the place. And I think it helped. This morning I woke up, feeling like I had resolved something important, like I had emerged out the other side of a wearying storm. And I feel better physically than I have in days. And I feel better emotionally, too, even though Charlotte is probably not quite out of the woods yet, nor will she ever really be.

And an aside of strangeness that seems to fit well nonetheless: I read before sleep last night, after having talked with my Mom for over an hour. That felt good, and I found some resolution… with Emmanuel, of course, but strangely enough, moreso with Nietzsche. I picked up a dog-eared copy of Zarathustra, and re-read some important stuff, and felt quietly comforted, at a deep soul-level. And then I fell asleep, waking only to pet the kitty when she stirred or coughed, and to make my usual midnight run to the bathroom.

I have spent far too much time as of late outside my own head, not keeping my own counsel. I have allowed the value I place in being valued by others to override my own, intrinsic sense of value for myself. I have shunned my own blessed solitude, running like I don’t know the difference between it and loneliness. Silly me, it is an old, familiar friend, and it longs to embrace me. Zarathustra reminded me of it last night.

So here I am, not quite able to give voice to all that ails me, but am now able to write without having to steal from others’ works to find a voice.

And on the other crisis-front, Charlotte ate last night, and drank some, and ate again this morning. And she took her meds without too much fuss, and purred and snuggled a lot with me last night. So, for now, life is *good*.

Perhaps, I just might be coming back. :-)