tragedy/comedy
I have been in a whirlwind. I have been hesitant to write because I fear a vulnerability hangover. I tend to share it all here and that is a double edged sword. How much is socially acceptable to share in this space? And can I really unring that bell after sharing the details of my experience being sexually abused as a child? If the work is in destigmatizing than what am I internally stigmatizing and is it something deeper I need to unravel to create the safety I need to share more? Mostly it comes down to how it will be received. Or if I know family is reading or may read it one day. The way my story has been muted and compartmentalized and how those walls are forever crumbled and I am now creating this new structure, and I want it spacious I want it free and open and honest.
And that structure does not exist within my current family structure(outside of my home). And I am having to think about how to move forward. Is action required? Am I actually responsible for next steps or is that my sense of obligation and duty kicking in that was born of survival?
“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” - Zora Neale Hurston
I am not sure which year I am in. I lean toward a year of answers because I have received so many and I want to acknowledge and honor that. But more answers come with more questions and so on because the more we know the more we understand that we don’t. I recently picke up Their Eyes Were Watching God, by Zora Neale Hurston. I read it in high school and have since revered it as my favorite book of all time but the years have passed and my memory of the story had faded or perhaps been put in a container that has now been reopened. It is like so many barriers broke down when I picked up this book and got into it again. If you have not read it, you should. I recall my fascination and admiration with Zora and it feels good to revive that aspect of myself again and my teenage wisdom and desperate need to connect. Her depth, study of dialect and story telling are unmatched and I am so grateful this novel is back in my orbit. I have read more than half of it in only a few weeks time and since I have also been chronically online and spinning in my own unraveling as I confront the duality of life. Comedy. Tragedy. Joy. Sorrow. I have found myself with whiplash as the pendulum swings one way to another.
We had a lovely vacation with family friends. It was absolutely divine. It happened to be during my birthday and I must say, I love being out of town for my birthday. I like to celebrate and be celebrated on my birthday. So this whole trip felt like a giant birthday party. Don Julio was a prominent guest of honor, I am a tequila girly and we had FUN! During this trip I learned a dear friend of Mike and I, suffered a horrific loss. We had just seen the person that had suddenly and tragically passed at wild waves with those friends a week prior. It had been, unbeknownst to any of us at the time, their last day together. And we happened to see them that day. This individual was like a daughter to our friends. She was a teenager. To hold the duality of a dear friends tragedy and the joy and rest I was experiencing on the trip was such a tug of war on my heart. Grief, death are our greatest unifiers and I pray for a day that we can hold that honestly for each other as a whole. An entire hawk wing was found on the property we were vacationing at.
I am a person that assigns meaning to things. That is the path of mysticism and magick. A dear friend shared with me that magick is the art of remembering. The hawk wing feels potent and something I am called to meditate on. I brought it home with us. And am ruminating on what to do with it. I trust that it will come to me as will the medicine it is here to teach me. Hawk has been with me for some years, the Messenger, represented by Mercury. In the beginning of summer (gemini season) I proclaimed that I was embracing chaotic whimsy, I was going to LIVE. This drive was inspired not only by the tragedies that have occurred within my family and loved ones fears but as a way to transmute the suffering I have internalized and allowed to consume my existence and identity for far too long.
There also happened to be a lamb living on the property next door to us. A sweet little week old black lamb, a runt that the neighbor girl had earned from working some shifts at a farm store. She brought the sweet thing to the river, kayaked with it and it managed to swim and I got to hold the precious creature and warm him as he shook from the cold. The neighbor girl fetched a towel. The poor lamb spent the nights crying for its mother, his baas echoing in the valley that held the river. My obsession with shearing remains and I continue to be shown signs and affirmations that my work with these animals is the path and so I stay following that as best I can. I remain steadfast and leaning into deep trust that my action, dedication, and faith will continue to lead the way to the life of our dreams. During the course of our trip I admired the progression of bruises that lined my calves and inner thighs from trimming hooves of 73 goats with my mentor just days before. I enjoy the marks and the physical exertion. My back pain remains at bay with this work and I am grateful for the opportunity and for my mentor. Next week I am to shear 30 sheep with him.
My mentor is a 50 year old man and he shared with me at the first job he invited me to about his stepdaughter’s murder. Him and his wife met later in life, his wife older than him. They had both raised children and are only five years married. Newlyweds! Only a few years into their marriage his wife’s daughter was murdered by an ex over a custody dispute. She left behind 3 children 2 from a previous relationship and one with the man that killed her. My mentor and his wife are now parenting their 3 adolescent grandchildren while homesteading, running a business, making ends meet, recognizing the life they had planned was going to look very different and of course, grieving. She was my age when she was murdered. He shared this with me as we wrangled hair sheep and he taught me to trim their hooves as we dripped sweat and he bled on my from a hoof piercing his skin. He has since invited me to multiple jobs including at his own home and our families are getting to know each other. Me and him can commiserate on the struggle of parenting preadolescent boys, the woes of screen time and the fatigue of it all. Except he didn't choose that path. It was chosen for him and his wife, who now would be forced to relinquish their role as grandparents and assume the role of parents in the depths of grief and custody battles.
I am not sure where this writing is going. I simply know it was time to write and there is no way for me to express in a linear way what is on my mind and heart. Life can be cruel. Life can be filled with sorrow. So we really do need to hold each other and allow ourselves more humanity and grace. I am constantly thinking about community also, how I write and speak on it and how I show up for it. I know that interdependence will be integral to our survival and we will need to shed a lot of armor with ourselves and others to create a better world. I saw a friend in a vulnerable space the other day. I was picking my son from her place. She was visibly tearful and shaken up, she hurriedly got off the phone and I hugged her and offered up help, she shook it off, expressed shame in my son witnessing her upset, and her concern that her son(my son’s friend) was embarrassed. She texted me again, apologizing for her state when I picked up my son. I reassured her and did my best to put her worries at ease.
There have also been a few instances where rather than reaching out for help from my community and instead I withdrew, dealt with it alone and in struggle. I had shared with that same friend weeks ago, what I had been going through, the pain, the isolation, the desperate need for care and nurturing that is often not available to a mother that stays home to raise the children and care for the home. She lovingly reminded me that she likes to help and that she is close by and to reach out next time. I would have told myself the same! Smdh. There is so much deconstructing that has to be done and while I pride myself on my ability to create support networks and community outside the nuclear family sphere(which in itself, a construct for isolation and consumerism to uphold patriarchy, capitalism and white/hetero supremacy), I still have miles to go in leaning deeper into the discomfort and inconvenience that comes with not only creating community but being a recipient of it. I have more to say! About everything I touched on here! But I find myself forever long winded and I need to stop and breathe and allow this to be what it is. A broad and nonlinear overview of my past few months and how it intersects with my inner and outer landscape. Until next time, thank you for reading, I love getting comments so if you feel inclined to share your thoughts, please do!
Mucho Mucho Amor!
Karen