Skip to main content

Merciful Death

I am learning that there is nothing romantic about The Field. It is no placeholder for a cartoonish or fantastical happily ever after, where we all hold hands and sing Zipppity Do Da, or Kumbaya.

It is a place that is as full of the most ravaging & thunderous storms, shape-shifting earthquakes, and flagrant destruction of newborn, as the calm after the storm, the freshness of the quenched earth dripping and steaming up from the warmth of the sun, which has unapologetically been absent, with landscapes flaunting obvious signs of new life.

I step more and more into The Field, and I find the non-essential burning itself away, until I can barely recognize myself. Long straddling a place riddled with want, and a place that begs surrender to ask for nothing--finding the balance mercifully tipping a bit heavier toward the latter.

My hope is that what remains when I fall into surrender, will be the makings of a freedom for which I realize I have not, nor could have truly ever given myself permission.

No, it could have never been so simple.

There had to be a reckoning of vision--to finally stop the madness--the pursuit of Disneyland facades, that give the illusion of magic, but leave you empty and hungry after the partaking. There needed the kind of  attack that kills the disease at the core, not just a half-hazard firing squad--the kind of nuclear blast that brings you to your knees, bleeding out, as cage after cage is revealed, until you are pretty sure you are merely made of cages.

I am learning that freedom isn't something you can grant, not with all the denial that runs in our veins as fear of what amounts to our own denial of our mortality. Rather freedom is something earned, and it comes from what is left when you've stopped playing games with yourself--stopped lying to yourself in the grandest of ways.

When life brings you face to face with who you are for better or for worse, and when you realize you are just who you are, and that that is what you have to work with--no special formula for your completion, no shortcut, just facing the clay that you have to work with, no matter how unsuitable it is for the job.

And yet, can I be honest with you? It feels so much better to just be real with the loss of innocence, the unattainable, because it becomes so incredibly simple, and then the crusade just gets called off.

Eyes cast down, we go home, and we do what needs to be done.

Perhaps The Field is merely a place of rest, and repair from the scourging of our soul as it shakes hands with being human, and finds itself zapped over and over into submission.

And maybe it is here, that we lose the banalities of being nice, the ferocity of being angry, and look up for something new, and find the bud breaking ground, bursting through the concrete we've constructed around our heart, writhing as new life takes root without apology in our heart, using us for nothing but fertile ground to reach the sun, and we have no choice, nor desire, but to let it.

Yes, there is something about being cut to the quick, the rawness and bleeding, watching it use your remains as nourishment for new life that doesn't care if the sorry you that has been suspended in self-pity all her life, dies, because it knows it is a merciful death.

John Green says in his book, The Fault in our Stars, 'Grieving doesn't change us, it reveals us.' And maybe it is good that it does. Maybe we'd never really know ourselves otherwise.

Comments

  1. "Facing the clay" Oh, Brooke! I love those words. Yes. Facing and embracing, in a not so mushy way, but in a way that sees what truly is, and, as you said, doesn't judge. It sounds so simple, and by God it is, unless you're a human being. Then it gets complicated.

    I am a field of putty with the potential to be all things, a tree of life in bud, a fertile burial ground. I am as small as my fears and the sprout of all green. I am me standing in the field. Surrendering into putty.

    I love your site and the work you are doing, Brooke. There is such a richness here—the perfect environment for growth.

    "I know that there is no resisting the deep. No pretending to find nourishment in spun sugar," said the girl with large eyes digging holes;)
    I love you!

    ReplyDelete
  2. This post is right on time. The first task in the end-of-winter garden is to cut down, cut back all that is dead, rake away rotted leaves. Out of the dead, ruined field, new life tender and ferocious. Powerful post, Brooke. Thanks you!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

♥ Thank you for taking the time connect with me here. ♥

Popular posts from this blog

RIP Poltergeist

After over ten years of an incredibly intense journey as a seeker, I find myself lying fallow. Taking a rest. When I first discovered this uncomfortable fact — threat to the hamster wheel that was my spiritual rat race, I surrendered for dead, but something wouldn’t let that fact sit as truth. I was lying fallow, but this implied that after a good rest, fruit could follow. This had nothing to do with death.

I am humbled at the courage it takes to write. For many years I kept a blog read by only a handful of very supportive people, and you’d think that after sharing writing for so long with perfect strangers, writing would have gotten easier. Actually, it got harder. In fact, at one point I was so paralyzed, I just stopped writing altogether. It was just too vulnerable. There was no trust there anymore, and I attributed any courage I had had to my youthful ignorance.

However, life continues, as it inevitably does, and there is still this pang to write, and it grows stronger and strong…

Adventure

Another painting I loved making. I had so much fun just layering paint and swirling about.

Adventure has been a big part of my world as of late. In fact, writing this after a long day of skiiing. Where I used to shy away from leaving the house, I've been doing the opposite. Finally really getting to know my beautiful state and bask in its beauty-- hiking to the top of many peaks--sometimes limping the last stretches back to the car. Took my girls camping on the beach without a 'man'  and was so proud when I got the campfire started multiple times. The girls had their doubts I could do it. It was nice to prove them wrong! My most favorite was the day I drove 5 hours to the closest passport office on a wing and a prayer to get a same-day passport (wing and a prayer because they tell you you can drive all that way, but that there is no guarantee they can/will help you) so I could accept an invitation to see the woman's soccer world cup, and within a week was in Vancouver…

All for one and one for all...

“All for one and one for all.” 
― Alexandre DumasThe Three Musketeers
I thought I would bid farewell to these 29 days with me and my girls taking in the sunset atop one of my favorite views.

This was drawn at a time when our little threesome became my sense of home and identity, and having these little ones, now big, by my side has given my life meaning and purpose, and has changed me in every way that is good.

This is how I want to go out, in the end, like watching the sunset with my girls--feeling the warm glow casting itself around the valley, lighting up eyelashes and strands of angel hair, until the light recedes and is no more.

Thank you to those who joined me on this journey. The gifts have been all mine-- to share my creations and to be met with such tender love and kindness. I honor you all as fellow creators and humans on the journey. It is a joy to call you friends.

I can't wait to be on the receiving end of your creations, and to keep a life-long sharing of our hearts…