Another Beginning

Since a journey begins with a single step, then perhaps a blog can start with one word. That, at least, was my thought as I stared at this blank page.

My inclination to write my thoughts has been tempered by my hesitancy to share the repetition of my emotions which have ridden higher than the summer sun as it crosses the sky and lower than the deepest rift in the ocean. I fell into this inability to write by getting caught in the admonition that what if no one wants to read about this emotional rollercoaster ride of mine. Everyone is having their own problems these days. Everyone has lost, is losing, or is about to lose someone or something dear to them. It might be a loved one, and it could be their home. I am not the only one, and with this I became self-conscious about my runaway emotions, not wanting to admit that I might be having trouble with my ‘insights’ by not being inspired by my own revelations. They weren’t sticking to me.

I didn’t want to admit I wasn’t stable, that I couldn’t be an example of how to be in control of my situation, let alone myself.

A friend reminded me I wasn’t supposed to be. My focus was my process, sharing the difficulties of widowhood with all its stumbling moments, sharing the fact that somehow I was getting through it, and sharing the glimmers of hope I saw periodically.

I pondered this. There have been times when I was in fetal position and didn’t know what to hope for except that the pain in my belly might go away.

It, I am glad to report, is lessening. My mind has alternately moved from numbness to one with an occasional idea that has led to an action but then back to a period of paralysis until I can get up again.

I don’t know what I would be doing without the women friends who take turns calling and checking up on me. I couldn’t get through many of my days without my growing relationship with flower essences and my personal processing supported by several techniques I’ve been learning, such as process coaching, EFT, and of course Reiki and praying with my chanupa.

After a sauna session last week, I looked out the glass door at the decking. To the right I saw a fuzzy caterpillar purposely scuttling across the slatted deck. He/she followed some unseen path, once getting sidetracked by a scratch in the weathered wood. He/she returned to is chilling path next to an abyss much larger than its own width between the wooden planks. He/she would veer toward the dark pit then save itself. Finally it stopped, seemed to assess its position. Aiming directly at the far plank of wood, he/she pitched itself across what must’ve seemed like a ravine then pulled its many legs onto a new 'terra firma'. Head down, he/she continued to the left of me on the new board, its many feet following each other.

How could I deny the lesson? ‘Keep going forward, Earlene, and, when it’s time to make the leap to another plank on the path, just do it. Just take the next first step; just write the next first word.’