I Know It's Bad When I Keep Running Hamlet Soliloquies Through My Mind

"I have of late--but
wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all
custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily
with my disposition that this goodly frame, the
earth, seems to me a sterile promontory. . .



For the past couple of months I've felt as if I've reached the "Acceptance" phase of my grieving for Lohain. His loss is no longer a sharp and constant pain. I'm used to his absence; it has become normal to me. I no longer spend hours a day dwelling on his death and all that I lost.

And yet. . . .

I can't say that I've fully accepted my own ongoing life.

I'm sure unemployment doesn't help.
For the past few weeks I've felt like I'm losing the battle with entropy.
My projects are stalled out, my spiritual life the tiniest trickle of energy.

It's hard to bring myself to care.

There is no joy in my life, and I don't know where or how to find it.

Some days it feels as if when Lohain left his body he took all my joy, all my capacity for joy, with him.

I no longer weep every day, or even every week. But I no longer sing, I seldom laugh.
I'm not happy.

I just am.

At the same time, I've been making some spiritual breakthroughs that hint at deeper, older issues which are finally surfacing for me to deal with. I'm certain that's part of what's making it hard right now. The issues are ones of restraint, of inhibition, of denial. I think I'm finally starting to face the roots of the semi-paralysis that has dogged me all my life. Unfortunately, the process seems to be exacerbating my desire to crawl into a den, tuck my head under my tail, and hope it will all just pass over me, or that I'll simply go into a deep sleep and be able to avoid it.

It's all tangled up together, and I am really, realy missing the energy and encouragement of my yang warrior-king.

[Who appears at my elbow, his eyebrow raised, when I write about him as if he is not here, not ready and willing to help me.]


And to go back to my original thought when I started this post: I not only have no joy in my life right now, part of me feels indifferent about ever experiencing joy again. Or maybe I'm just too afraid to expose myself to the implications of the lack, and end up grieving about that too. Or I'm afraid of what it will mean if I do experience joy without him in my life.


I don't like my life very much right now.

I haven't liked it much since he left me.

I feel like all I can do is keep moving forward, doing the best I can to live as richly as I can. I can not give in to the grief. I can not give in to the gray. I can not give in to entropy and the desire to take false refuge in slumber, in hibernation.


But gods, do I miss the feeling of his arms around me. . .

Journal Re-Name Alert

This is the friend formerly known as Feral Journey.

Wolfhound Trailer

Thanks to _storyteller_ for sharing this.

I don't expect to like the movie very much, but I think I know this man. . .

The Next Step. . . .

[x-posted]

This afternoon I was reading the chapter on Purification in War and the Soul, and it suddenly started triggering insights and ideas. I'm going to skip explaining the context and just focus on what it brought up for me.

Despite all the work that I've done to heal from my grief over the past two years, I've never formally, ritually done anything to 'observe' Lohain's death besides the brief but potent memorial the day after his passing. I've never done anything to ritually reconcile myself to his death and the permanence of it. Frankly, I don't think I could have endured the pain of that admission until recently.

I don't like using words like "taint" or "pollution" -- but ancient and tribal cultures believed that being around the dead, involved with death, left their mark on the soul, and some of what was left on the soul needed to be cleansed, for a variety of reasons relating to the soul health of the individual and the community.

I feel like I've finally reached the place where I am ready to purify myself of the leavings of Lohain's death. . . letting the grave shrouds and the scabs be washed away.

I want to take a ritual bath and dress in a new white robe. I want there to be white candles and incense and multi-colored roses. I want to lay my husband to rest out of this life, while celebrating the life that goes on. I want to formally, ritually accept that he is dead and that my life goes on. I want to ritually celebrate a marriage with him that accepts and celebrates the fact that our union crosses the boundaries of flesh and spirit, instead of simply mourning for what I can no longer enjoy in this life.

This kind of thinking is not normal for me. Usually I simply analyze everything into the ground or have flashes or insight or sudden experience. It's very rare for me to yearn for a ritual observance of this degree of intention and formality.

I think it's going to come after my vigil next week. The vigil will affirm the depths to which his death has taken me, my connection with Ereshkigal, the path I'm all -- all the positive qualities of darkness and the underworld which I embrace and affirm. And when the dawn comes, I'll observe this ceremony, a purification and rebirth.


I think this is part of what I was moving toward with the re-naming of this journal. . . But in ways I can't put into words. . . Maybe that Autumn is the inevitable aftermath of a Summer that can never return. We can only move on to new cycles, and if we can not reconcile ourselves to our losses, then we cripple ourselves.

Writer's Block: Memo to Myself

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All those dreams that you're convinced are impossible? They're not!

All those things you write about wanting to do? You can do them right here on earth, if you'll only give yourself permission.

Trust your desires. Trust your gut.

Dare to be different.