Watching a news clip of my old friend's arraignment this week, it shows him finally looking as ragged as it seems one would be at this point. When he was first captured and shown being escorted into the police car, he looked exactly, to the T, as he had when we all used to spend time together years ago, which was shocking to me. Seeing the difference between the two videos of him makes me wonder if he had been in some sort of shock-induced denial of what he had done, and if his present raggedness reflects the truth settling into him.
I am finding that the presence of his acts and his family's experience continues to recede in my daily thoughts, and that the easiest way for me to make sense out of it all is to imagine that he had some sort of a psychological break, because those acts were so counter to everything I knew about him beforehand.
On another note, our chickens, now two months old, have been enjoying free run of our yard (and our garden, when they find their way into it) for a couple of weeks now. It is a deep, pure pleasure to watch them scratching and pecking their way through the grass and compost pile.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
"Unspeakable"
I found out this week that an old friend of mine had just done some terrible things to his family, bad enough to shake everyone who heard of it. He was not a dear friend, but a good one, and had been a part of my small circle of friends for a good couple of years while I’d lived in that city.
For the next couple of days, whenever my mind was unoccupied, all of my thoughts circled around him and what he did to his family. I imagined the scenes, grappled with the truth of it, with the unreal nature of it, the horror of it. I prayed for his family, for the ones left behind, for their friends and communities. And for him, for the hell he must be in, at least some part of him. I’ve not slept much lately, lying in bed looking at my little boy, contemplating the child growing within me. His acts made them seem so utterly vulnerable, so transitory. Yes, we are alive and happy now, but so were his children, and then within the span of a day they were gone, dead. How to expect my own little ones to survive in this world if two other little ones can be ended by those who love them? Every child I saw, even in storybooks, seemed to me to be so transitory, ethereal. How can we hold them close when they could leave us in an instant?
When the news finally came that he had been caught by the police, something suddenly let go inside of me. I marched past my family, unable to explain myself, and went straight outside. Once in the sun, my feet on the grass, the trees standing surely ahead of my in their places, waves of comfort washed over me. It was like diving into water, the crisp difference between being within walls and being out in the natural world. I walked to our apple, listened to the voice within me, lay down on the earth, on the soft moss there, flattened my body so that much of me was touching the earth. I could feel my horror, my sorrow, my confusion being absorbed by the earth. I could feel the permission, the invitation, to melt and let it all come rushing out, all of the tears I’d been too shocked to cry, the sobs now wracking my body. After a time, I obeyed again the voice within me, this time to look upward towards the tree. I rolled onto my back, looked up to the glowing green leaves, and a little cloud beyond them caught my eye. It was a remarkably small little wisp of a cloud, in the company of several others like it, and they all glided slowly, silently by in the sky, in the vast blue sky. A little flotilla of clouds, drawing my eyes and my thoughts up and away from all the things on the earth, all the emotions and understandings on the earth, up to the wispy, momentary vision of a little band of clouds, a perfect moment in the universe.
"It was a day in that blue month, September
Silent beneath the plum trees’ slender shade…"
This moment of seeing the tiny clouds floating so effortlessly and perfectly across our blue sky, in and out of view beyond the leaves of our dear old apple, lifted away in an instant the intensity of my feelings, as suddenly as, and more astonishingly than, when I first had stepped outside and felt myself succumb to it all.
Now spending some time away from home with my partner and his family this weekend. This morning I cared little about visiting, interacting with anyone, and during a rare brunch that my husband and I were able to share alone as the family watched our boy, I found myself in and out of presence with him, listening to him talk and feeling tears fill my eyes when I wasn’t even consciously thinking about it all. Realized in the car on the way back from town that I’m in mourning, that this is grieving. I hadn’t met his family, didn’t know them, only had felt happy when I’d learned that he’d married a woman he loved and a couple years later when I heard that they had kids. But I’m mourning them now, mourning the dear little children whose love for their father had been betrayed, his wife whose life had been so unfairly ended by someone who shouldn’t have had the power to do such a thing, her mother, too, who had opened her home up to their family. I’m grieving my memories of his friendship, of our nights out listening to music and all dancing together to local bands, our gang’s adventures in the city, silliness on the subway, all the walks we’d taken in nature with our friends. All the goodness that had surrounded him, that is now utterly overshadowed by a darkness, by his “unspeakable” acts, as the police describe them.
I’m finding that as today has worn on, my mind and heart have finally begun to return their focus to the goodness that exists in the world. Instead of seeing children and thinking of them as essentially vulnerable, I’m able to hold the perspective that most children live out relatively safe lives, that his family is by far an exception. Tonight I made our bed after putting my boy down for the night on it. As I fanned the sheet out over the bed, it covered most of his body for an instant, until I put it in place. For a moment I was reminded of the image of dead bodies being similarly covered by a white sheet, but quickly I found that the serenity of the moment, my boy’s safety, my utter love for him and his sure knowledge of it, far outsung any ugly thoughts that lingered.
It is refreshing, and feels strangely new, to see so clearly how my mind has been able to refocus on those things that are healthy and healing in life. When I visit my thoughts about the events of the week, I can see clearly that I’ve placed them in a box and closed the lid for a bit. But I also can see that this is providing me with a chance to recharge, to enjoy this time with our family, to rejoice with my boy and my nephews as they all frolic together, instead of living in my thoughts and imaginings of awful things. Surely I will delve back into it all, surely I have a lot more to explore and accept about it all, but I gladly accept this moment now, in which the beauty and goodness of the world are in sharpest focus.
For the next couple of days, whenever my mind was unoccupied, all of my thoughts circled around him and what he did to his family. I imagined the scenes, grappled with the truth of it, with the unreal nature of it, the horror of it. I prayed for his family, for the ones left behind, for their friends and communities. And for him, for the hell he must be in, at least some part of him. I’ve not slept much lately, lying in bed looking at my little boy, contemplating the child growing within me. His acts made them seem so utterly vulnerable, so transitory. Yes, we are alive and happy now, but so were his children, and then within the span of a day they were gone, dead. How to expect my own little ones to survive in this world if two other little ones can be ended by those who love them? Every child I saw, even in storybooks, seemed to me to be so transitory, ethereal. How can we hold them close when they could leave us in an instant?
When the news finally came that he had been caught by the police, something suddenly let go inside of me. I marched past my family, unable to explain myself, and went straight outside. Once in the sun, my feet on the grass, the trees standing surely ahead of my in their places, waves of comfort washed over me. It was like diving into water, the crisp difference between being within walls and being out in the natural world. I walked to our apple, listened to the voice within me, lay down on the earth, on the soft moss there, flattened my body so that much of me was touching the earth. I could feel my horror, my sorrow, my confusion being absorbed by the earth. I could feel the permission, the invitation, to melt and let it all come rushing out, all of the tears I’d been too shocked to cry, the sobs now wracking my body. After a time, I obeyed again the voice within me, this time to look upward towards the tree. I rolled onto my back, looked up to the glowing green leaves, and a little cloud beyond them caught my eye. It was a remarkably small little wisp of a cloud, in the company of several others like it, and they all glided slowly, silently by in the sky, in the vast blue sky. A little flotilla of clouds, drawing my eyes and my thoughts up and away from all the things on the earth, all the emotions and understandings on the earth, up to the wispy, momentary vision of a little band of clouds, a perfect moment in the universe.
"It was a day in that blue month, September
Silent beneath the plum trees’ slender shade…"
This moment of seeing the tiny clouds floating so effortlessly and perfectly across our blue sky, in and out of view beyond the leaves of our dear old apple, lifted away in an instant the intensity of my feelings, as suddenly as, and more astonishingly than, when I first had stepped outside and felt myself succumb to it all.
Now spending some time away from home with my partner and his family this weekend. This morning I cared little about visiting, interacting with anyone, and during a rare brunch that my husband and I were able to share alone as the family watched our boy, I found myself in and out of presence with him, listening to him talk and feeling tears fill my eyes when I wasn’t even consciously thinking about it all. Realized in the car on the way back from town that I’m in mourning, that this is grieving. I hadn’t met his family, didn’t know them, only had felt happy when I’d learned that he’d married a woman he loved and a couple years later when I heard that they had kids. But I’m mourning them now, mourning the dear little children whose love for their father had been betrayed, his wife whose life had been so unfairly ended by someone who shouldn’t have had the power to do such a thing, her mother, too, who had opened her home up to their family. I’m grieving my memories of his friendship, of our nights out listening to music and all dancing together to local bands, our gang’s adventures in the city, silliness on the subway, all the walks we’d taken in nature with our friends. All the goodness that had surrounded him, that is now utterly overshadowed by a darkness, by his “unspeakable” acts, as the police describe them.
I’m finding that as today has worn on, my mind and heart have finally begun to return their focus to the goodness that exists in the world. Instead of seeing children and thinking of them as essentially vulnerable, I’m able to hold the perspective that most children live out relatively safe lives, that his family is by far an exception. Tonight I made our bed after putting my boy down for the night on it. As I fanned the sheet out over the bed, it covered most of his body for an instant, until I put it in place. For a moment I was reminded of the image of dead bodies being similarly covered by a white sheet, but quickly I found that the serenity of the moment, my boy’s safety, my utter love for him and his sure knowledge of it, far outsung any ugly thoughts that lingered.
It is refreshing, and feels strangely new, to see so clearly how my mind has been able to refocus on those things that are healthy and healing in life. When I visit my thoughts about the events of the week, I can see clearly that I’ve placed them in a box and closed the lid for a bit. But I also can see that this is providing me with a chance to recharge, to enjoy this time with our family, to rejoice with my boy and my nephews as they all frolic together, instead of living in my thoughts and imaginings of awful things. Surely I will delve back into it all, surely I have a lot more to explore and accept about it all, but I gladly accept this moment now, in which the beauty and goodness of the world are in sharpest focus.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Sharing
Had a fright today. Tonight, after putting the chickens in, felt some very strong directions in my walk back through the yard. I was led to a red maple near where the incident had occurred, and from it a vision came to me that helped me understand how the issue would be resolved. I was grateful for the gift of some sense of how things will work out, and reached up to touch its leaves, look up into its branches in the dark.
I gave my thanks to the tree for sharing what it knew, and then knelt down to touch the earth and asked that I may give as I am able, that I may act when I am called to act.
I gave my thanks to the tree for sharing what it knew, and then knelt down to touch the earth and asked that I may give as I am able, that I may act when I am called to act.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Tapping
Out in the dark tonight to close up the chicken coop. Paused for a moment on my busy way back to the house to take in the vision of the fireflies' lights hovering over the shadowed lawn. Promised myself I'd only stop for a moment, but then, in stillness, I saw how many of them there actually were - far more than I'd been able to glimpse while tromping along in my mind.
Stopped finally. Stopped after days, weeks of choosing to be pulled on by the leash of productivity and busyness. Sensed the curvature of the earth in the yard, awoke to the coolness of the breeze touching my skin. The leaves in the far trees rustled, rustled in the wind dancing through them, satisfying music after a long, dry spell of blocking out most ambient outdoor sounds. The apples behind me held silent in their patch of still air. The pullets in the coop pecked against the walls, a quiet, surreal tapping in the dark.
What a fantastic argument our minds are able to present: We are so important on this earth, it is so necessary to devote each second of our time to "getting things done," that we cannot allow ourselves even such a five-minute stillness.
Stopped finally. Stopped after days, weeks of choosing to be pulled on by the leash of productivity and busyness. Sensed the curvature of the earth in the yard, awoke to the coolness of the breeze touching my skin. The leaves in the far trees rustled, rustled in the wind dancing through them, satisfying music after a long, dry spell of blocking out most ambient outdoor sounds. The apples behind me held silent in their patch of still air. The pullets in the coop pecked against the walls, a quiet, surreal tapping in the dark.
What a fantastic argument our minds are able to present: We are so important on this earth, it is so necessary to devote each second of our time to "getting things done," that we cannot allow ourselves even such a five-minute stillness.
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