A Dim Reflection

"For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known." 

~I Corinthians 13:12 (English Standard Version)

Recently, I had a dream that revolved around going blind.  In it, I had a friend who was blinded by something that happened to her.  One day, she could see, the next day nearly all of her sight was lost.  In the dream, my friend had a court date scheduled but she continued to go about her life as if nothing was wrong.  I was concerned about her ignoring the changes she needed to make to adapt to her condition and kept trying to help her.  However, this just aggravated my friend and she either ignored me or ridiculed me in front of our other friends which left me confused and frustrated. 

Then, as dreams go, I was the one going blind with the impending court appointment.  However, unlike my friend, I was in the process of losing my sight instead of abruptly losing it.  Still, I was concerned about preparing for this important court date and wondering how I could put myself together so I would look okay.  As I was walking along on a concrete sidewalk, I came to a fenced area with a gate.  The moment my hand touched the gate and I prepared to open it, I realized that my vision was impaired but I could see well enough to open the gate, walk inside and get where I needed to be.  It was then that I realized that the blindness that I feared didn't necessarily mean total darkness, maybe I would be legally blind and I decided that I could live with that.  It was at that point that I opened the gate and started walking up the steps.

At times, dreams can be messages that I send to myself to help me navigate difficult circumstances.  A few months ago, I received a letter notifying me that Bill would likely be released from prison soon (sent to a half-way house to reintegrate into society after more than 11 years of incarceration.)  When he filed a motion to commute his sentence a few years ago, I was thrown into a tail spin of spiraling depression.  At that time, I realized that part of my coping strategy had been to basically deny his existence- no Bill, no problem.  The idea of running into him at a restaurant or a nearby store was terrifying and incomprehensible.  I wrote letters to the parole board and Governor Kasich basically begging them to deny his request and give me more time to prepare.  My prayers were answered and I was granted my request but now the time has arrived- there is no longer any denying or avoiding it.

The question of my heart is, can you see your way through and be okay? 
I am the friend trying to help myself and, at times, I am that same friend scolding myself for not being further along this forgiveness and healing path.  I am the one muddling my way along looking for a better way, wondering if I'll be okay and surprised that I am here now feeling my way and still limping along.  I am the one quietly reassuring myself that, when the time comes, I will be ready to open the gate and enter this next phase of my healing journey. 

 

Omphaloskepsis

"I'm too alone in the world, yet not alone enough
to make each hour holy.
I'm too small in the world, yet not small enough
to be simply in your presence, like a thing-
just as it is.

I want to know my own will
and move with it.
And I want, in the hushed moments
when the nameless draws near,
to be among the wise ones-
or alone.

I want to mirror your immensity.
I want never to be too weak or too old
to bear the heavy, lurching image of you.

I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed, I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight."
~Rilke's Book of Hours; Love Poems to God

After more than 3 years of no blogs, I recently posted 2 new journal entries.  I casually mentioned this to my husband and he immediately sat down and read them.  Bob looked inquisitive and sad as he sat down beside me on the couch and quietly said, "I'm sorry you're having such a hard time, Honey."  In other words, he was trying to offer support- trying to let me know that he is there for me. 
Immediately, my heart sank and I felt the old dreaded sense of shame wash over me.  I tried to escape it but, too late, the shoulds, and worse yet, the shouldn'ts multiplied in my brain.  The voices that accuse and condemn me for not having my act together got so loud that no matter how I tried, I couldn't drown out the noise.  I went to bed holding back tears and woke up at 4:00am with a crushing headache... out came my trusty ice-pack...
The next morning, I ruminated over the phrase, "contemplating your navel."  Funny, I haven't heard or thought of that phrase in years but it quickly surfaced in my consciousness, ready to hurl accusations of looking for attention and wanting pity.

Omphaloskepsis is a word that means literally "contemplating one's navel." It is derived from the Greek words "omphalos," meaning navel, and "skepsis," meaning enquiry.

In my 1st marriage I remember often hearing my husband say, "You're so melancholy.  You think too much."  It has felt wrong and self-centered to be introspective.  That presents a problem when you have inner-work that needs attention.  How much introspection is too much and how much is not enough?  I have no easy answers to this question but I must admit that there are memories and fears and heartache that need attending and the only thing I can think to do about it is to make space and time to unfold.

Today, in the hushed moments, in spite the old beliefs that I must be perfect or fears of being not enough (or maybe too much), I want to unfold and will let no place in me hold itself closed.  

The Only Way Out

"My tendency to want to run feels unnatural now
The only way out is through
The faster we're in the better
The only way out is through ultimately
The only way out is through
The only way we'll feel better
The only way out is through ultimately"
~Alanis Morissette lyrics to Out is Through

In the first year after the attack, I threw myself at recovery.  I had almost superhuman determination.  I pushed against every obstacle set before me.  The doctor's predictions- "We know the normal course of recovery based on the % of burns that you have so, most likely, you will be in the hospital burn unit for 4 months, from there you will go to a rehab hospital for another 4 months; you will need to live with someone up to a year because you will need help; it will probably be 2 years before you'll be ready to return to work." 
I left the hospital in 6 weeks because I worked so hard to prove to the nurses and my doctor that I was ready, only to return a week later with serious infections in all my graft sites from the waist down.  I lived with my daughter and son-in-law for less than 4 months after finally leaving the hospital at 8 weeks.  In only 4 months, I returned to my job working 30 hours a week.  It was a huge stretch but I did it!  Less than 6 months after the attack I moved into my own condo and continued working.  And that's just the physical part of the work! 
While in the hospital, I declared that I would forgive this thing and the man who tried to destroy me.  I had made a personal goal of freedom several years earlier to "exit this life without harboring bitterness toward any human being" and I intended to actively pursue that goal.  Soon after leaving the hospital, I began journaling to help navigate the treacherous waters of my broken heart.  It felt as if my life was shattered and I didn't know how to put it back together again.  Writing helped me release some of the scorching pain and slowly find my way through dense fog of my mind and emotions.  I felt so lost and alone even though I was surrounded by family and friends who loved me and supported me any way they could.  But, the journey through the insanity of my life was an alone trip- only I could reach those depths or find my way out of that forest of despair.  I vacillated between letting myself go there and trying to convince myself that I hadn't changed at all- I was still the same Becky who pulled into the driveway that sunny morning in July- full of hope and promise.  It was nearly a year before I confronted the truth that I was not the same; I was forever changed.  The naïve trusting fearless woman who was Becky, was no more.  I remember saying to my son, Jeremy, while still in the hospital, "Bill robbed me of my innocent trust of Life!"  As I sit here writing eleven years later, unfortunately, I know I was right and that fact still breaks my heart.

It was only very recently that I realized at what point I withdrew my own permission to feel the depths of pain that had taken up residence in my heart.  That was the blessing and the curse of the Beacon Journal story published on the 1 year anniversary of the attack.  Being easily recognized by the mask meant strangers stopped me nearly everywhere I went to offer support and encouragement often telling me, "You're an amazing woman!" What a beautiful thing!  I always reassured them that I am decidedly average, far from amazing, and just trying to do my best to survive.  But, somewhere in the midst of it, I decided that I needed to not be messy.  Way back in the recesses of my mind, I told myself, "Nobody wants to see that!  Nobody wants to hear you go on about it.  It's history.  Move on!"  That is when I began to ignore my pleading heart.  And because I refused to listen, the quiet pleas became raging screams that refused to be silenced.  These emotions that overwhelm me need to be heard and healed and I now recognize that it takes time.  I can't skip the process. (sigh)  So, here I am, finally listening again.

Alanis Morissette has become one of my spiritual guides; her lyrics have become some of the poetry of My Life.  As I was sailing down the road from work the other day, I found myself singing along,
"The only way out is through.  The only way we'll feel better."  I'm discovering "My tendency to want to run feels unnatural now."  Finally, the time has come to explore the murky depths with a trusted therapist.  "The only way out is through ultimately."

Unrecognizable to Myself

"I was bruised and battered, I couldn't tell what I felt.
I was unrecognizable to myself.
I saw my reflection in a window, I didn't know my own face.
Oh brother are you gonna leave me wastin' away...

I walked the avenue, 'til my legs felt like stone,
I heard the voices of friends vanished and gone,
At night I could hear the blood in my veins,
Black and whispering as the rain...

Ain't no angel gonna greet me.
It's just you and I my friend.
My clothes don't fit me no more,
I walked a thousand miles
Just to slip this skin."

~Streets of Philadelphia by Bruce Springsteen

 

More than 11 years have passed and I'm still fighting demons, still wrestling with old fears and rages and brokenness.  If anyone would've told me that I'd be here now, I'd have laughed out loud and said, "You don't know me, I'm scrappy; I've set my heart on forgiveness; I look for Love and always find it." sigh...

But, here I am- bruised and battered, my legs feel like stone.  I'm tired.  The energy it takes to keep it all together, to quiet the screaming in my head and the searing pain in my heart, is vanished and gone. 

Recently, I had a dream.  I was standing on the concrete beside our old pool.  The pool water was crystal clear and it was a bright sunny day.  I looked around me and saw several groups of turtles.  Each group had a distinct shape and markings on their shell but they all had one thing in common- they were all laying on their back and appeared to be dead.  I then found myself reaching out my arm above one of the groups of turtles and they immediately flipped over onto their belly, stuck out their head and legs and started quickly crawling toward the pool.  Once there, they dove in and began swimming with great speed and agility through the water.  I proceeded to extend my hand over each group as they followed closely behind the last group.  This continued until every turtle was swimming around the pool.  It was really an extraordinary site- joyful and beautiful.

The next thing I knew, the entire bottom of the pool was covered in turtle "do" and my little girl (she appeared about 5) started walking around the bottom of the pool.  Just happily wading through the turtle poop.  I had little concern about it because she seemed happy.  My only thought was that I just hoped she wouldn't breath it in.

Dreams can be powerful tools to guide me along as I traverse this life.  I had this dream a week ago and it keeps coming up for me.  A little light to break through the fog that is my mind.  Not too long ago, I decided that my urge to scream was an indication that my pain body needed attention.  I prayed, "God, please bring me someone who can help me.  I don't know what to do with all of this mess!"  God, said, "Yes!" and I found myself back in a therapist's chair pouring my heart out.  Fortunately, there was an angel to greet me.  My clothes don't fit me no more...