Sticks

There was a rustle and then a sigh, in the bushes. Then a creak. I froze, strained my eyes to pierce the misty darkness but it was no use. The moon was nowhere to be seen, still asleep or else hidden by the fog, and the world was swatted with a dark, black night. I was alone with trees and … with whatever they hid among them. Or whomever.

A host of monsters, of sprites and imps sprung to my mind. I imagined them, yes, yet they were no less real, not to me, and the hot, sickening wave of fear rose and broke over my head soaking me down to my feet. I wanted to run. Telling myself that I was being silly, imagining things, was no use. I knew I was imagining things. That made them no less real, not to me.

I did not run, I stood and felt the fear because I thought: whatever happens I am here. Whatever comes out of those bushes it cannot make me lose myself. I am here. And as long as I am here – I am safe.

It can take my life away, this monster hiding in the darkness, it can pounce and grab me and drag me to another realm but it will still be me, I will still have myself. It can take Chris away, take my home away, take my stuff away. It can take away my body’s health, it can end this body’s life, but it cannot take away me. No matter where I am, no matter what I lose – I can still be. I can always be. I can remain myself.

And as long as I don’t lose myself, as long as I am here – I am safe.

No! No, there will never be a discussion on this subject! No, I will not talk about this!

Why? Because it is like putting my hands in a mud and twisting my fingers, splashing, spraying slime and decay all over my face.

I will not talk about what “they are doing”. I will not talk about how they cheat, how they lie, how they control, how they destroy, how they kill. I will not talk about conspiracies, secret societies, evil that lies behind every fact ready to pounce.

I will not talk about this.

I will not speculate on “what really happened,” on who and what and why.

Why? Because of the fear, because of the anger, because of the terror that screams from behind every word. I will not  listen to those words.

Why? Because I can see, if he does not, the meaning of his speech. He believes that his story of lies and deceits and conspiracies describes reality – I know that his story creates it. Every suspicion, every doubt, every accusation and every attack creates a world full of danger, full of anger, full of fear.

Yes, he says that this is what the world is like and he only describes it. He only defends himself from it. He only gives you tools to defend yourself.

He says that, and he believes it, but I listen and I hear not a description — but a creation.

I do not want to live in that world.

I am tremendously consistent, you know? Interestingly so, since my actions and choices often seem random, haphazard, contradictory. And yet they take me exactly where I want to go.

Where is that? I don’t know.

I can see this clearly looking back, and I can feel it clearly right at this moment: there IS something that feels like purpose. There is something that I am … not “guided by” exactly, not “following,” but rather consistently creating.

What is that? I don’t know.

But it is, I can clearly see it — it is. There is a purpose and a goal in my life. I am creating it as I go. Step by step, day by day I am creating my purpose. And yes, of course I wish I could look ahead and see where I will be at the end of this journey but the truth is that I can’t.

I can’t see the end because I haven’t created it yet.

It took me a while to realize this, and then it was only because it hurt. Badly. Life, world, me – everything hurt.

Let me be frank and straightforward, for this is not an occasion for fancy writing: Chris wanted a divorce. Once. He walked into the house, I remember it clearly, it was a sunny afternoon, a late summer afternoon in Ojai, in California. We lived in a bungalow with a living room wall made of windows. In the brilliant sunshine flooding the room I sat. On the couch. When he walked in and told me he wanted a divorce.

Oh, I can feel my chest tightening at the memory. A shadow of the pain. I did not expect it then. I sat stunned as my mind raced, struggling to keep up with this new development. It raced … into an unexpected direction. “Hurts!” it thought, then “accept, accept, this is happening” then “it’s … it might be a good idea actually…”

It took few minutes. Then I looked up at Chris. “This might be a good idea, actually” I said, “do you want to go have some ice cream?”

Of course it wasn’t over then, it was only the beginning, but I thought that it wasn’t such a bad thing because I was not happy. I would not admit it to myself, but when I had to know I knew that I was not happy. I put my life into Chris’s hands. I draped my responsibilities over his shoulders and left myself powerless, depended, scared and resentful, while it left him … but that was not important. I was important.

“I did this” I thought to myself, “I created this. This pain I am feeling now is mine pain. Chris did not hurt me, he did  not create those feelings. I did. This is my life killing me. This is my marriage falling apart. I made it and I will unmake it. I will heal it. I must heal it or else this will all happen again.”

This is what I decided and this is what I did. I healed. Myself.

I changed myself and my life changed with me. Showered with new clients, jobs, money, I  could do what I wanted. For the very first time in this life I was able to buy what I wanted, to quit the job I did not like, to work at home as I always wished I could.

I changed and my life changed.

And I was happy.

And Chris liked me like this, and we did not get divorced.