Believing III
It is good to keep an open mind, but not so open that your brain falls out. ~Author Unknown
Anxiety and its spawn, hyper-vigilance are mean nags. As I seek the serenity of acceptance that the housing upgrade portion of the farm renovation is complete and fit to give our little ship of fools a secure base of operations, my anxiety continues running high over the fears and uncertainty of the future. On a therapuetic level, reviews of this very journal have me feeling fairly confident that I have identified and am addressing the fears and anxieties attached to this very specific point in our collective journey. Beyond the morning BM grumbling in my gut, nary a one of those fears and anxieties are of nature that are likely to find solutions today or even this year. The healing mysteries donae work on the methodology of a marketing agenda. Trust is a vital component in healing. Without trust, I am far more likely to revert to my childhood habit of scratching holes in my epidermis in a misbegotten effort to release psychic toxins. I will compulsively scratch the scabs off the wounds Nature designed to protect, deepening and widening the wound in the mindless process. Well, just it all. . .
My construction experience makes me most callously unladylike in my views of houses. A building is just a building is just a building. Nope. I ain't interested in the shopping and tittalations attached to the interior design aspects. These days, not even the girliest of girls is interested in the housekeeping portions of domesticity. Leave that for the domestic servants which havenae been available since females have, theoretically, had other options available to them. All to many seem to use those theoretical options as bigger guns for the ancient arts of husband hunting and manipulation, butttttttaaaaaaa. . . Different thread, different blog. . . For now, I am *just* doing what needs to be done.
For this strictly personal morning in this particular phase of healing, The Quiet Voice continues whispering that single word, "Believe." While mindfully validating the fears and anxieties still clamouring in my psyche, I am working to pull my focus to trust and appreciation of the progress which has been made and the beauties and joys within. The past is done and cannae be undone. Tomorrow is but a dream. Today is all we really have to work with.
Swim lessons fell by the wayside in the coughs and sneezes of winter within the stress filled chaos. Yesterday found me still feeling the wear and tear of these trials far enough that I voted to pass again when Hubs and I discussed the agenda item during yesterday's lunch break while the children were in school. Hubs voted to keep the lessons on the agenda. I've often wondered if domestic partnership would be easier if parents came in threes so there would be an ever present tie-breaker for the split decisions. The Quiet Voice provided the tie-breaker with that single word. In you I trust, beloved husband.
The trust provided some spectacular results. The swim lessons went swimmingly and we returned home with a satisfied tired and unified glow. Further proof that not All Men are domestic morons? Even the most moronic of life forms gets one right every now and again. Just a theory. . . Keep your torches and pitch forks in the closet, Ladies.
Should I have been surprised when Hubby had a meltdown during the dinner and bedtime almost-rituals? Big Bro got caught in the erruption when Hubs poured two bowls of cereal into a single bowl, creating a mess that was far beyond 6 year old coping skills in the process. Was Hubs trying to reclaim his Domestic Moron birthright? Hubs disappeared without a word while I let that mystery be to dry the childish tears and mop up the physical mess. The children were tucked in and sleeping securely when he returned. He was shakey, but looking like a partner a beaten crazy bitch wolf can work with.
It's not about being perfect. It's about working ^it^ out. Works in progress. . . Can one **work** to believe? Seems to me that is one of those feats that are either easy or they are impossible. Just breathe. . . Small steps, big faith and lots of prayer.
Replies
arfie, I love that, "It is good to keep an open mind, but not so open that your brain falls out. ~Author Unknown" My brain has fallen out several times just as several times it was knocked out of me, which is how I got PTSD. Fortunately, it turns out that it's got a good bounce to it, so when it hits bottom it bounces back nicely. As you say, it's not about being perfect as much as it's about being resilient as the works in progress that we all really are.
One of my favorite songs is Van Morrison's Into the Mystic, When I get scared about the future-I listen to this song as try and see it as a spiritual journey-taking the good with the bad..
Hark, now hear the sailors cry
Smell the sea and feel the sky
Let your soul and spirit fly
Into the mystic
Prayers and Faith to you my friend.
This is a very powerful entry for me Arfie. It has touch on some of my core issues.
Belief has been ever a challenge for me since I was little because in the past I hasn’t learned the finer distinctions between belief and faith. They were inseparable. When I lost my faith, I automatically assumed I lost my ability to believe.
It’s taken a lot of introspection and work to realize I can believe even though for me faith is still as illusive as trying to make the sun stand still.
But that’s just me.
Hugs, support & love, my friend
Yea, Muji, I'm still picking asphalt and detritus out of my brain from some of my more dramatic fall outs. Know where I can get some good snake oil? The PTSD specialists seem to be manufacturing it by the Big Pharma truckloads since PTSD became a household acronym.
Beautiful song, Sage. I amnae at all sure I can pick a favorite Van Morrison song, but "Into the Mystic" is definitely a contender.
For my distorted sensory perception, "Faith" and "Belief" are fully synonymous. I use them as interchangeably as many of my more housebroken brothers and sisters-in-healing use the terms, "Faith" and "Religion."
Dunno. . . I cannae seem to fit any of those terms into a one-size-fits-all meaning, nay even inside my strictly personal skin. By whatever name, ^They^ are ethereal phenomena which live and breathe far beyond the realm of words. Listening with all my senses. . .