Saturday, July 27, 2013

Crybaby

I cry at the slightest rub against the emotion of loss-- lost time, lost relationships, lost opportunity. I feel it with a hint of someone's departure, through a phone call with an old friend where I find myself bereft of words and wallowing in the pain of time passing; or through the words found on the printed page of a storybook. I cry over sad endings, beautiful moments, and sometimes when caught unawares. Ignoring the power these moments hold over me feels foolish, but I do it often enough anyway.

I steal an inward glance and prepare to cringe. Pain from the present moment anchors onto an old state, an old fear, or an old longing. It wants release like a soap bubble that floats up and then pops except that it's a bubble bursting with pain that I can't hold back. It's complicated and it's simple.

Sorrow for what can't be; loss for what has passed and will not come again is tethered to every moment before it and after it. I tune into this channel of loss as if it is a beacon or homing signal. Some transend regret eloquently whereas I choke on pain and drip with tears. I want to gather all the pieces that have taken flight on the wind and form them into something meaningful and keep them or at least bring them back into my life.

In the Jewish tradition, after bar mitzvah, a rabbi might say to the young adult, go and repair the world. What am I to do with these shards? Why do I hold onto ancient history? Why do I stroke the bones as if they can be brought back to life?

Instead, I smile inwardly when my son, eight, asks for my iPod because his dad's iPod doesn't have the Moody Mama Playlist that has the Journey songs he likes. Journey always makes me think of my friend Kelly. When I was fourteen, I remember noting a Journey poster in her room before confessing that I liked the band. She was probably oblivious to the impact of my truthsaying, but for me it wove her into their songs. My son has added another layer. This is how a song becomes laden with feelings, memories, and love. It's never the surface thing, but that deeper place that resonates, vibrates and knocks everything together, the wellspring, the source of tears too hard to explain. Everything is like this-- overgrown and entangled.