∞
Better now. There’s a familiar, bittersweet sense of starting over—relief in being able to return to simple, daily activities; sorrow in seeing all my little ant-hills of effort scattered. A collective sigh heaves out of my body.
This is the Work. To keep coming back. To pick up one grain of sand and start building again.
I take inspiration from the monks who build their beautiful mandalas in the sand and, when they finish, sweep them up. The juice is in the process, not the product.
I want results. I want to change my life. I want.
But, wanting is tangent to the door before me. I walk through. I squat. I look for the sand. My finger reaches for a grain. I start again.
SandySue Altered
Apr 20, 2013 @ 13:36:31
Beautiful post and really illustrates what we all go through with the cycles, the endless cycles, that characterize our disease.
Apr 20, 2013 @ 15:14:23
I maybe spoke too soon. The reprieve didn’t last long.
Apr 20, 2013 @ 19:01:07
Well that is the nature of the illness. Hang in there.
Apr 20, 2013 @ 20:38:56
Beautiful words Sandy. Hang on, breathe…
Apr 21, 2013 @ 08:22:39
This too will pass. Hold tight to the memories of getting through your darkest days.
Apr 21, 2013 @ 18:01:54
I’t so weird how I can’t remember. It’s all grey.
Apr 22, 2013 @ 14:06:26
Glad you’re better. Have fun building life’s sandcastles today.
May 01, 2013 @ 12:22:52
bipolaronfire said it like I was going to. 🙂
May 01, 2013 @ 12:26:27
It is so very weird –and that I keep forgetting — that the memories of getting through to out-of-the-Pit are all grey, if available at all. I usually only recall the high and low points. Wasn’t so long ago that I had no idea that others — especially articulate creative others — experienced this way of being/living, too. So glad you all are here!
May 02, 2013 @ 05:40:29
Writing about all of it, the full range of the cycles, is the only way I can remember. If I don’t record while I’m in the moment, it’s gone.