A Bottomless SadnessIt's been an interesting couple of weeks--and the further I get away from this most recent 'ending' the sadder I become. They say time heals all wounds--so why is mine growing deeper with each passing day? My friend suggested that I'm not sad about this latest chapter, but instead the entire narrative. I'm grieving not this particular man, with his particular habits, which I particularly miss, but instead I'm grieving something greater. She suggested I simply dive in. Swim toward the bottomless sadness and come out the other side.
After India, I didn't believe I would ever find myself here again. I felt that the cloak of melancholia had been lifted for good. But that's just another false hope, another trick of the mind and its attachment to what it wants (happiness--which ironically enough is available--just not through attachment--sigh).
Actually I feel like I'm grieving for myself. For my continuing to pursue happiness outside myself, for my grasping at hope instead of allowing faith to take my hand and simply lead me, for believing--again.
I can't be too hard on myself--I follow my heart. But the consequences grow heavier as I grow older. And as I look to the coming days and weeks as fall becomes winter, it is only a metaphor for myself. But then, so too is spring--and spring comes--doesn't it? Smile.