Sunday, September 25, 2005
The heart that breaks...
I just got home from RevC's memorial.
It was painful. Painful and beautiful and even joyful, but painful. And it was the kind of memorial, held by the kind of people, in the kind of place where you were asked to breathe into the pain and not run away from it. So, not only have I just spent hours dancing and crying and laughing and singing, but I have had no where to hide from it and right now, I feel raw.
Raw and drained. I look at my apartment which needs cleaning and my emails which need answering and supper which needs making and I feel like it is all useless tasks done in a feeble attempt to deny that at any moment it could all be taken from me and, even if I want to tell myself something different, there is nothing I can do about it.
In moments of great pain, one's faith is tested.
I feel my faith slipping and sliding, looking for its Centre. The voices of my atheist family scream in my head that this is all hocus pocus mumbo jumbo derived by humans to make the sheer force of death taking away our existance easier to process. The voice of born again Christians remind me that, if what they say is True, Candace will burn in hell forever more. I hear my own voices, angry and sad, trying to figure out how it could possibly be that Candi chose to go when she so seemingly wanted to live? I hear the whispered voice of Candace in a grainy recording played this afternoon say... I love you... and life is good
and good
and good
and good
and good.
Sitting at this computer, I am not sure which voice to listen to, but I stop tyring to choose and breath in the pain. I am simply scared and human and I miss her. That, I know is real and so it is that which I hang on to.
Life IS good. I choose it. I choose health. I choose to stay and be human and flawed and sad and angry and confused and clear and happy and laughing. I choose it. If I could, I would choose it for you and I would have chosen it for Candace. But it wasn't my choice to make. And now I must let go of ever knowing why.
I ask you to send me light in your thoughts when you read this. I will need your help to find my Centre again. It will return home soon, I know. Right now, I cry.
"The heart that breaks, is opening, once more, to love."
And so I heal.
It was painful. Painful and beautiful and even joyful, but painful. And it was the kind of memorial, held by the kind of people, in the kind of place where you were asked to breathe into the pain and not run away from it. So, not only have I just spent hours dancing and crying and laughing and singing, but I have had no where to hide from it and right now, I feel raw.
Raw and drained. I look at my apartment which needs cleaning and my emails which need answering and supper which needs making and I feel like it is all useless tasks done in a feeble attempt to deny that at any moment it could all be taken from me and, even if I want to tell myself something different, there is nothing I can do about it.
In moments of great pain, one's faith is tested.
I feel my faith slipping and sliding, looking for its Centre. The voices of my atheist family scream in my head that this is all hocus pocus mumbo jumbo derived by humans to make the sheer force of death taking away our existance easier to process. The voice of born again Christians remind me that, if what they say is True, Candace will burn in hell forever more. I hear my own voices, angry and sad, trying to figure out how it could possibly be that Candi chose to go when she so seemingly wanted to live? I hear the whispered voice of Candace in a grainy recording played this afternoon say... I love you... and life is good
and good
and good
and good
and good.
Sitting at this computer, I am not sure which voice to listen to, but I stop tyring to choose and breath in the pain. I am simply scared and human and I miss her. That, I know is real and so it is that which I hang on to.
Life IS good. I choose it. I choose health. I choose to stay and be human and flawed and sad and angry and confused and clear and happy and laughing. I choose it. If I could, I would choose it for you and I would have chosen it for Candace. But it wasn't my choice to make. And now I must let go of ever knowing why.
I ask you to send me light in your thoughts when you read this. I will need your help to find my Centre again. It will return home soon, I know. Right now, I cry.
"The heart that breaks, is opening, once more, to love."
And so I heal.
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