Saturday, January 21, 2012

The Journey Home I: The Fog

This fortnight has tested my patience, understanding, fortitude and all the little washers and screws connected to these machines. No work has begun on my burnt house and my questions about it are beginning to sound whiny. I cannot imagine how many more months upon months upon months have to be lived before the healing can begin.

It seems impossible that I should agonize thus over mapping out a journey across the street where I stand. But when one is trying to map the fourth dimension of chaos, the other familiar dimensions lose their logic and designations. The main problem that I have been grappling with is the loss of my clear perspective, one of my greatest losses in the fire that robbed me of my home. A clear vision remembers the past, understands the present, and can project a few options for the future; I, on the other hand, cannot bear to remember the past, cannot fathom the present, and am too afraid to believe that all will, indeed, be well. Every day, I find new depths in the pit I inhabit now, and the light shining far above is too bright to be anything but a gyp.

One would think that 15 weeks would provide distance and perspective, since I'd have had time to reflect. However, the machine of routine allows no such luxuries: there are papers to be graded, lectures prepped for, doctors' appointments made and honored, among all the madness of a household with a High school Senior and three cats that don't exactly get along. There is no time allowed for reflection, when all thoughts and moments are dedicated to juggling immediate necessities.

I try to snatch rare half-hours of my staring-out-into-nothing time, like this half hour before the day is born, because my daughter had to reach school at 5am and I have a few moments before the Sun peeps over the blanket of fog and begins to shout contradictory directions at me.

This entry serves as a reminder to me to navigate these dark, foggy waters with patience, for even the slightest stumble is likely to sink my ship. I must remember not to look down, since there is no way marker there. I must remember to steer true and slow through elements I cannot see, and learn to recognize, understand, and heed the strategically placed cliff lights as the only guides to harbors I can only imagine.

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