wherefore I know not--lost all my mirth, forgone all
custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily
with my disposition that this goodly frame, the
earth, seems to me a sterile promontory. . .
For the past couple of months I've felt as if I've reached the "Acceptance" phase of my grieving for Lohain. His loss is no longer a sharp and constant pain. I'm used to his absence; it has become normal to me. I no longer spend hours a day dwelling on his death and all that I lost.
And yet. . . .
I can't say that I've fully accepted my own ongoing life.
I'm sure unemployment doesn't help.
For the past few weeks I've felt like I'm losing the battle with entropy.
My projects are stalled out, my spiritual life the tiniest trickle of energy.
It's hard to bring myself to care.
There is no joy in my life, and I don't know where or how to find it.
Some days it feels as if when Lohain left his body he took all my joy, all my capacity for joy, with him.
I no longer weep every day, or even every week. But I no longer sing, I seldom laugh.
I'm not happy.
I just am.
At the same time, I've been making some spiritual breakthroughs that hint at deeper, older issues which are finally surfacing for me to deal with. I'm certain that's part of what's making it hard right now. The issues are ones of restraint, of inhibition, of denial. I think I'm finally starting to face the roots of the semi-paralysis that has dogged me all my life. Unfortunately, the process seems to be exacerbating my desire to crawl into a den, tuck my head under my tail, and hope it will all just pass over me, or that I'll simply go into a deep sleep and be able to avoid it.
It's all tangled up together, and I am really, realy missing the energy and encouragement of my yang warrior-king.
[Who appears at my elbow, his eyebrow raised, when I write about him as if he is not here, not ready and willing to help me.]
And to go back to my original thought when I started this post: I not only have no joy in my life right now, part of me feels indifferent about ever experiencing joy again. Or maybe I'm just too afraid to expose myself to the implications of the lack, and end up grieving about that too. Or I'm afraid of what it will mean if I do experience joy without him in my life.
I don't like my life very much right now.
I haven't liked it much since he left me.
I feel like all I can do is keep moving forward, doing the best I can to live as richly as I can. I can not give in to the grief. I can not give in to the gray. I can not give in to entropy and the desire to take false refuge in slumber, in hibernation.
But gods, do I miss the feeling of his arms around me. . .