I can hold this small space / and the whole world turns inside it.

I am learning that I can find that focus again if I just give the feelings space and time to be acknowledged. I know my touchstones and I settle among them and I breathe and I hold court and then the feelings are more…polite. If I sit with them, they whirl and quiet and then I do find new perspectives, and then the focus comes. It takes a good hour. And then I get out of bed. Or go to bed. But today it came in the morning, so I got up and wanted to write. The thought came that I feel like a toddler again, like the carrier and protector has withdrawn and I am tottering around, falling down, getting up, and sometimes grinning up at her: Look what I can do!

I am looking forward to seeing Kristin tomorrow, and the thought of Marcus is a terrible gaping hole, and soon it will be time for action on all fronts, but today is for me. I am not answering the phone. I am instead asking myself what I want. Yesterday I realized that I have given my whole self to this process and now I am empty, and that emptiness feels so blessed — and as I begin to fill up again, I need to be very careful about what I fill up with. I need to sit down with my intention and have a friendly chat — long overdue, I think, me and my intent have grown somewhat estranged. No more secret code. Messages are clear — clear like this morning’s light, like suddenly knowing how this painting reminded her of me, like nighttime dreams beginning to trickle in again, full of bugs and frightening words. Clear like my voice sometimes can be, when I don’t stumble over words because the precision is already present and the words are already arrows drawn and aimed. Clear like sitting with D.A. and not laughing with him, not replying, only holding this space. Clear like knowing I cannot eat meat right now. Clear like having looked in my journal and felt a part of me coming, not quite knowing who she’d be — and now looking again, and knowing perfectly well how to fill in that blank me.

It’s been a week. When Dad died, I asked Marcus how long this terrible feeling would last, “When does it go away?” His reply: “It doesn’t.” Now, I pray for this lightness, Mom’s light, to stay too.

“Clear\ (kl[=e]r), a. [Compar. Clearer (-[~e]r); superl. Clearest.] [OE. cler, cleer, OF. cler, F. clair, fr.L. clarus, clear, broght, loud, distinct, renownwd; perh. akin to L. clamare to call, E. claim. Cf. Chanticleer, Clairvoyant, Claret, Clarufy.]”


~ by Arrrow Marie on February 12, 2009.

3 Responses to “I can hold this small space / and the whole world turns inside it.”

  1. This is beautiful. Especially “the words are already arrows drawn and aimed.” This is heartbreaking.

  2. Heart-making!

  3. You can approve if you choose, it is more to simply say.
    say that it all is the color we see because it is the colors we choose and that everything already known has never been so clear as when we are empty.
    So to be empty, what does it really feel like? I try sometimes, to just be this way, and everyone else fills me up. I want to borrow anther’s heart one day, perhaps a new-born’s so I may know no feeling but life. For it seems all of life only sounds as that extra beat within these hearts, it is the sound of fear, maybe not, maybe love, maybe not, but it is all I hear now.

    Thank you for a space to write.

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