Birthing a Dragon Pt. 2


 
 
 
 
On Monday, August 1st, having been back for 5 days, this is what I woke up to:

I’m going to try writing my way through this.  Paralysis.  Feel SO alone.  I replay my interactions over last week.  Only remember the ones that felt painfully disconnecting.  Think about the people I feel closest to.  They feel so far away.  This feeling like, “How can I even…?”  Tears roll down my cheeks.  Actually, I’m encouraged by the tears.  It’s the numb heart I fear.  What one little thing can I do?  I know that staying home and finding something to occupy my mind, avoiding this feeling, these feelings, won’t help.  What about all those who sob and don’t know why and come up with their own worthlessness?  Do I believe that I sob because of my own brilliance?  Honestly right now it sure feels like brilliance.  It’s very hard to look directly at.  Having relaxed some, there’s a monolithic quality.  Like the feeling of a rock on solid earth just after the single thud of it’s landing.  

I don’t sob.  Usually I just leak tears, sometimes they stream.  But body-wracking sobs are like a hundred-year flood for me.  Maybe a 5-year flood.  That morning I had to reach to find the reasons for sobbing.  I noticed the reaching and paused.  My sobbing intensified, felt so alive.  Then that monolithic quality.  I wasn’t able to stay with that space.  That’s not true—I stayed with that space for about 3 hours or so.  It felt so subtle and heavy yet delicately balanced. 

Then I hibernated.  History of the 20th century documentary on youtube, the rest of the day (I started in around 12 noon).  The next morning, right when I woke up, I felt the moment of gap.  “How will I engage today?” which soon became, “How can I possibly deal with today.”  Back to documentary land.  Also cancelled lunch with a good friend who I hadn’t seen in a long time.  All because I was ashamed of how I felt.  It felt so dead.  No possibilities.  I wish I could remember what I did to become unstuck.  But that’s the dragon.  Trusting basic healthiness so completely that strategies are irrelevant, like cut hair fallen on the floor.  The way to do that is called rousing windhorse in the Shambhala tradition.  Suddenly letting go of what I think I know, my heart opens and possibilities appear like stars on a clear night.    

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