24.1.18 Bedroom window galaxies, early morning.
The rain woke us and it was angry. I didn't feel much better. There were thousands of words to write today in a body I can't keep upright. Intense pain and every part of me thrumming with dysfunction have made it all feel so grim this week. Reason tells you that pain is something held entirely inside yourself, but after a while, you know better. There are weeks when long-term pain, the kind you've long carried and know you always will, leaks out to coat everything around you and you accept that this is how it has to be. Some balance tips and the container of you overflows. It grows bigger than you are and you cannot hold it in and so you start to ooze it. I am often amazed to pull myself up and see I haven't left my chair dripping with the tar of it. Surely I should have done, and I'm half convinced maybe I did and that one day, the light will turn and I will finally see it and say, look, look, I knew.
Even the air has felt thick and visceral this week, like I must be filling that too. To move, to think, is to have to push into it and through it. It has required weight and deliberation in every muscle and every choice. And I have, I have pushed against its resistance because I am trying to learn better how to do that. If I must carry pain with me, if it must run out of me like this, then I will learn to write and think and live through what it makes. I believe I can, in long pulls of ebb and flow, if I am patient enough.
The trick seems to be to not try and hold it in. To relax into the surge of it. More often now I remember that pain isn't poison, however it feels. It is dark and deep and sharp, but it can move through you and do no harm. I have learned to let it be something other than me. I hold it like black air, like noise or a wild sea or the weather, but it isn't the shape of me and it means nothing more than a storm or a single, shifting night.
I am not the weather or the night, I am the wide and open sky, and so I can let pain move through me and out of me, and I have been trying to do that this week. I've been trying really hard. The air wasn't thick with oil or smog or something bad I made, it was simply the wind of a dark night that I had to lean into until it passed.
The rain woke us and it was angry and I didn't feel much better, but there was more to the early morning than darkness, and there was more to me too.