The problem with going through the motions is that finally, at long last, you look around to find you have gone through all of them. There are none remaining for you to go through, you discover, and then the question arises: what next?
I walked eleven miles Sunday. I walked briskly, almost at a run. I was in no particular hurry. It was just that I kept finding myself in places I have been in for far too long.
There are no blind alleys in the hills around here, but I find them anyway.
Weight has been falling off me. I have, four or five times in the last month, realized that I had eaten nothing the previous day. One of those times was in the middle of a run, at twenty past midnight on a dark street. I was suddenly utterly hollow. I ran only three K instead of five. By the time I got home, the hunger had passed.
I eat when I remember to eat.
There are pomegranates in the refrigerator, untouched, and persimmons ripening on the tree. On Sunday a boisterous dog covered my shins in mud. She paid close attention to me in a way instantly familiar and wrenching, and when her people caught up we talked. Full-grown, almost, and she was not yet born when Zeke died.
He comes to me each night these days, whole and wholly present. The dreams are sweet, and kind, and most nights I stay up rather than risking even one more. Awake, there is at least the solace of solitude. There is espresso and dried mango and the creek flowing to the bay. I drink. I eat. I run. I write. There are motions and I go through them. The question arises: what next? Asking the question is itself an old, worn motion, and the answer plain enough. Nothing is next. There is no next.
Note:Many old comments were lost in a database crash in 2008. Some conversations may seem to make less sense than they would have. A few will make more sense now.
19 comments on "Motions"Sorry for OT, but you just won an Award:
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I think we need to have regular CRN meetups in order to get you to eat. I seemed to detect little in the way of diminished appetite on your part that day, especially where pie was concerned. Nothing like company to help keep away the pain of loss. And nothing like nothing to sharpen the senses, including the sensations of pain and loss. Perhaps the not-nothing of the desert will bring some resolution, or perhaps not. Go anyway.
The sins against the Holy Ghost are presumption and despair. Forgive me: I’m about to commit both.
Anecdotally, it seems that all of us in this age cohort (consciously or not) are beginning to struggle with what Richard Ford termed “the Existence Period.” We’ve been evicted from lives that we loved through death, illness, divorce, downsizing.
And now: what? You go through the motions and pay your taxes and wait dutifully, because you’ve said aloud—in a tone reserved for grain prices—that “I cannot bear this.” In the echo of that truth, the unbearable unbearably remains.
Life is loss: a fortune cookie. Realization that the losses are never replaced: a foetal curl.
How do we escape feeling like suppurating wounds drifting across the landscape, Daliesque mutants? Do we construct moments of interstitial joy (as you do), and hope that they cohere? Do we abandon the notion of coherence? Of joy?
My formula, at least for today, is to stay a little angry. Life, you installment-plan serial killer: keep the melon-baller away from today’s joy! I try to remember that I serve a structural purpose. Each of us is the higher ground for someone else, and we can’t get washed away.
I also return to Joseph Brodsky: “However abundant and irrefutable is the evidence that you are on the losing side, negate it as long as you have your wits about you, as long as your lips can utter “no.” On the whole, try to respect life not only for its amenities but for its hardships, too. They are a part of the game, and what’s good about a hardship is that it is not a deception. Whenever you are in trouble, in some scrape, on the verge of despair or in despair, remember: that’s life speaking to you in the only language it knows well. In other words, try to be a little masochistic: without a touch of masochism, the meaning of life is not complete.”
There probably is a next, you (I) just might not like it or get to choose it as thoroughly as one might wish - but the hell with all that philosophizing - I am just feeling how you are describing feeling and I am sorry for the pain of it.
Chris,
Sorry that you’re in such a state. If you have an alarm on your wristwatch (assuming you wear one, I certainly don’t), set it for 2 pm to remind you to eat.
You also might consider some chemical help: depression is dangerous, a killer. Some die quickly, by their own hand, others more slowly. I don’t want to see you in either category.
As far as “what’s next?” - last week I could see nothing. Then I realized that I needed to make some changes, because *I’m* worth more than that. I little bootstrap work, and I’m better today.
re:dreams - FWIW, folks of the pagan persuasion feel that the veil between the worlds is thinner at this time of year, making your constant dreams of Zeke understandable. If you can, find some solace in them… and know that this time of year will pass soon enough.
{{{Chris}}}
The curse of language; the necessity of formulating questions like “what’s next?”. Of course, it’s a gift as well. I suppose.
Left in the fridge,
slow going from sour to sweet,
these pomegranates.
Goddamnit, YOU HAD BETTER BE OKAY. Get in touch if you can, all right? We can have one of those nice Totally Awkward conversations or something; those are always great fun.
Yeah. What jmartin said.
Plus books; both reading and writing them. It might be time for some Agatha Christie, or Terry Pratchett, or Rex Stout, or re-reading The Once and Future King or something.
Also - and I know I say this pretty much every time we talk or IM or email, and I know you know this, and I know you do this, but it bears repetition in ye ol’ public forum anyway - comfort is good.
There is less and less of it, it seems, as we age and lose our loves and confront massive internal changes requiring us to live bravely with what can seem awfully finite resources and a constant supply of instructions from others, to which I am contributing now, even though it’s rarely helpful. So if it comforts you, have it. With as little second guessing as possible.
Wishing you comfort today, C. And sending love.
Hang in there man. We need you.
Can’t add much to what’s already been said by others above, just wanted to check in. But what Rob G said struck me; do we have to ask “what’s next?”
I’m fighting off a desire to offer advice, because I know it’s more about my own discomfort with your pain, and my tendency to be a bossy know-it-all, than anything that needs to be said.
So I’ll just say that I’m here, thinking of you.
Oh, hell. I can’t help it: Go eat something!
what they all said. Thinking of you, Chris.
Next was writing that post, and getting us thinking and talking.
What jmartin said (thanks for that). And the fact that whenever I realize I’m asking myself that question, the only thing that helps is remembering that “next” is “now.”
Grief isn’t the same as depression; I think you’re grieving. Which doesn’t mean it’s easy; it just means you have to keep walking and eventually it does become more bearable.
Glad to talk to you anytime.
there is no next, and yet, things move on anyway. sometimes it is jarring, sometimes wounding, the scrape of the unresolved against that relentless movement.
if you ever would like to borrow a dog or two—no, they could not possibly be a replacement, nor would they wish to be—part of your fan club lives over here, and they adore hikes. the sheer physical joy of getting out and climbing the hill, checking the news, enjoying company. all in the moment.
Celtic lore, probably among others, holds that the veil between living and dead is thinnest at this time of year. That may be why you are seeing Zeke in your dreams more right now. He is one of the Souls we honor on All Souls Day.
Should you decide to gain some weight, I have a bunch extra I’ll be happy to donate to the cause!
Thinking of you.
There is no next. There is only now.