10/24/10

The Still Point


This weekend was humbling for no particular reason. It was just the perfect set of circumstances to make me step back and realize how tremendously and so often unappreciatively blessed I am.

As I sit, realizing myself in the form of writing to you all, I can't deny that there were days in the last year when I was at a breaking point. Whether this exhibited itself in vulnerability, insecurity or surprising days of obsessive-compulsion, its cause was - as I spoke of in an earlier post - single-minded motivation. Which, again, isn't terrible unless it becomes debilitating. And it did. Without exposing too much of this to you all in the form of cyber-communication, it was debilitating to the point of anger and frustration that I, who had experienced so little loss, could feel loss in its deepest recesses.

But I have not been given a spirit of fear. I do not have a spirit that is shadowed by despair. In each instant, I am faced with the joy and possibility of life.

I once wrote about the fragile moments of morning in the newly warm days of June when I began packing my childhood belongings. The time is fragile like the "still point of the turning world" that T.S. Eliot writes of in Four Quartets. These are the moments of stillness when life appears so beautifully designed and so imparted with love. And there are fragile moments of night as well. Or of midday. Or of weekend.

Blake and I drove out to Concord on Saturday morning to hike along trails in our zipped-up North Face jackets, admiring trees on fire with orange and red, smiling like we do when we don't even know that we're smiling. Blake sat and read while I napped in the sun that drenched our yellow quilt with a warm afternoon glow. Later we carved a pumpkin and baked the seeds so long that they turned crispy and tasted funny. And it hit me while we were cutting up vegetables for dinner. A still point. I love my husband and my beautiful, broken life so much that it hurts.

Oh, how incredibly blessed I am.


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