Not knowing, and trying to keep busy...
I went to bed last night not knowing my sister's condition, and I awoke to the same situation. I have some errands I really need to run today, yet I am concerned that as soon as I leave the house, some word will come. Sitting around here all day yesterday, though, nearly drove me crazy, and I feel like I need to get out and breathe some fresh air.
By my own choice, I have been housebound since last Thursday. I felt deeply depressed, with a sense of impending doom for which I could find no explanation. I also felt physically drained---I have been unable to overcome these sinus problems that have plagued me for the last three months, and am still not sleeping well. When I heard what had happened to my sisters, nieces, and nephew, I felt deeply foolish for having been so wrapped up in my own feelings of depression, and yet it also felt like a kind of foreknowledge---my error was not in feeling sad, but in feeling that the sadness was self-directed. We are all connected to one another, whether we like it or not, whether we know it or not---and those connections mean something, they are important, and they are powerful. We do not have to give a name to it, and our attempts at giving it a name, and explaining its workings have been often times laughable and silly. Nonetheless, those connections are real and they have consequences. My greatest error, in this situation, and in general, is in not allowing myself to be open and accepting of it. That error is compounded by the error of not taking responsibility for the love I have expressed, and the connection(s) I have established and felt so deeply.
Those who know me, and those who have read this journal in the past, know that I have struggled with these matters before, and probably also know, as I do, that I will continue to struggle with them. Or, perhaps, that is not the case at all---perhaps the end of struggle is not victory of some sort, but acceptance. That is what I have failed to do so often, and the concommitant failure has been one of honesty, with myself, with others, and in my writing. That, I now believe, has been the single greatest source of frustration for me in my creative endeavours---I may be close to a breaking point where that is concerned, as I have felt so strongly an honest voice attempting to express itself, and my will to resist it is waning.
God, I ask, with all that I am, that you give me strength, and that you "help me believe in the things I believe in...".