Sunday, June 13, 2010

Still Talking to Clint

09/24/09 Yes, again today, I woke talking to Clint. It was the most bizarre dreams I can remember - ever. We were at the home of my ex-husband's brother and his family. I divorced Lawrence in 1991, so I am curious why I would think of him or is family at this time. Everywhere we looked in the house and on the deck and into the swimming pool, there was do-do. (Just trying to keep this clean). It was everywhere, I mean in the kitchen, bedrooms, bathrooms, you name a place where it could be deposited it, and it was there. Nobody seemed to be bothered by it, and when it got in their way, they shoveled it into piles in the corners or out the door. Clint and were there to visit, bute very one was literally too busy shoveling shit to make conversation. Now, it doesn't take Sigmund Freud to figure that out. My question to myself is, "Whose shit are we talking about here? I don't believe I have been ignoring my issues and have, in fact, tried hard to recognize them and face them head on. I need some time to process it.

As I sat on the deck drinking coffee and enjoying this cool morning, I thought about the two women in my life right now who have helped me begin to regain my strength and balance. Ann Carol's advice to dig deep into myself and remember all the times I had to be strong for everyone else, then reclaim some of that strength for me, for now. Those words resonated with me, and I found myself repeating them to myself. I believe that reclaiming my strength is one of the key elements of me moving on into a world that doesn't include Clint. I weep now as I write, missing him so very much. But these tears are different. I can't describe how, but they are different.

Rosemary's Sufi proverb, "Break my heart so that love can flow freely," touched me in a profound way. I am blessed to have these wonderful women in my life. I am going to make it. That doesn't mean I'll stop being sad and angry, but I will one day. There is another saying that goes something like this, "I will heal but I will forever walk with a limp." A month ago, those words would have made me furious. Today I see them as words of hope.

Now, I'm going out into the driveway and take a hammer to one of my old cracked and chipped bowls. I never said I'm not still mad, and I see this kind of act as an expression of anger and frustration that helps me let go of some of the poison without having to whine about it. Baby steps.

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