At the end of June I made an inner commitment to show up here to the page on a daily basis. I feel good that other than oldest son's wedding last month I've done it. Occasionally I bail and post a quote from one of my favourite books because I can't stare at a blank page one minute longer. Sometimes lately I've either written the post before I go to bed the night before or at least started it.
Tonight (Sunday night) is one of those nights. As I sat down to write I looked out the window and saw the lights of a combine in the field across from ours. I've seen evidence of a bear sharing my walking path nearly every day this past summer. At the end of our property is a tree line and when I walk past that line I ring my bear bell extra loud because it feels like I'm entering no man's land. Edging the road there is a field of oats and bears love them. The resident bear isn't waiting for them to fully ripen either because his latest evidence told me he's gorging himself on under ripe oats. Evidence left right near the end of our driveway. Oh vey.
I feel like my recovery has been wobbly lately. I left a comment on UT's blog back in June that recovery is like writing an ember letter every day of your life. The constant reflection on how it is within me is necessary if I want to make progress. And I do. And I am although progress sometimes feels akin to treading water.
Remember how I wrote about making an amend that was 30 years in the waiting? I had been chomping at the bit waiting for a response. Making amends isn't about getting a response. (I need that tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.) Maybe I'll accept that now after getting a very short response that was so incredibly crude it made me shudder. There was a current of hostility underneath that creeped me right out. Note to self: making the amend is my part of it. Period. Nada. The end. Dearest one assures me that based on the response the guy is still hurting 30 years after the fact and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
I've been thinking a lot about my friend Karen this week. I remember looking at all her knicknacks on the shelf in her diningroom this past June knowing that soon it wouldn't matter one little bit what she owned in this lifetime or not. I know that buying stuff will not advance my inner journey one bit. I also know it's not whether or not I own stuff that's the issue, be that a stack of paper (I love me some paper)or a diamond ring - it's my attachment to it that causes problems. I'm still mulling that over and still trying to grasp that Karen really is gone. I miss her.
I realize this is a helter skelter kind of post. I was hoping if I got it out of my head then maybe I could avoid having insomnia tonight. Speaking of which, it's past my bedtime so time to sign off on this 'ember letter' of sorts. Good night (or rather good morning.)