entanglement with her past. In listening to her, I realized something crucial for myself: I don’t actually feel that way anymore.
at it, my past and I are actually not so enmeshed anymore – at least, as I
listened to her, not nearly as much as we were. No. That’s not accurate. We’re
just not. It’s there. I poke at it, like a plate of live octopus bits, still
wriggling on the plate, long after everyone’d finished jamming them into hot
sauce and tried to chew and swallow before they attached to the inside of your
gullet. (Uh… See: My years living in South Korea for reference!)
most part, my past isn’t a thing crawling toward and suffocating me anymore.
to get under her past, I realized very
clearly that I have. Again, it’s there, but it’s not a shackle around my ankle anymore; it’s
just some dust I can kick off my shoe.
that my past is something I’m still slogging through, carrying around behind me
like a behemoth, its hot putrid breath at my neck asking me how it feels,
whether I am able to ignore it now, How ‘bout now, Now?
I’m wading through, slow as molasses, fetid and shoes lost.
(not better or worse, simply different), I got to see into a mirror that I haven’t been able to
hold up for myself.
there anymore. I am under my past. I’ve excavated, charted, spelunked
and had more than one canary die down there with me.
There’s a cave we’ve dug down into, we’ve opened the land around it, we’ve
cared and cleansed and ameliorated the land. We’ve begun to forget that it was
a horrid, dark, and dismal place, now in the open space that we’ve created from
it, and we’ve used that dank soil to plant new things. Exposed to the sun, it’s
something new, now.
visualization meditation over many years, opening the cave of my pain and my past, exploring, mourning, and later watching flowers begin to sprout where there was only hurt. I’ve done this work of opening my past and my pain up. It’s
finished, or as finished as it can be.)
able to see yet: The truth.
and anguished, that she is so knotted with her past she can’t see her way out,
I wrote in my notebook:
My past is really not that knotted anymore.