Sorrow as Meditation

And now for something completely different.

I've been sobbing a lot recently, which seems somewhat appropriate for the end of a 4-ish year relationship that had long since passed it's expiration date. I don't need to talk about that here, but just mention it for context. I MAY have some things to say down the road about open relationships, among other things, but it's probably smarter not to burn my temporary personal distress into the internet forever. Of course, that's never stopped me before.

Where was I? Oh yes, in the middle of deep, gut-wrenching sobs on the floor of my shower. Or on my couch having just come home and unable to contain it any longer. It's very cathartic, necessary, helpful, etc. so please don't worry about that detail. I'm just being honest: I'm crying a lot right now as part of my process.

The interesting thing that's come up is the little golf announcer I've noticed narrating the session as it happens in the back of my mind. "Ah, stepping up to chest-wracking sob number 3 is existential dread. And next, deep personal self-doubt.  Ah, the pang of loneliness, a frequent dessert to self-doubt, is waiting in the wings. And, I'm waiting for confirmation, yes that is the deep personal pain of putting up with a distressing situation far longer than you had to, almost as a form of self-punishment there warming up in the heaving cages." And so on.

It really strikes me as a situation not unlike a general transcendental mediation practice. Where the goal is to be still with right now and gently reminding the analytical mind to let go of the constant dialogue over and over and over. Not that it's not been important to understand why I'm ugly crying on my couch on a lovely Tuesday evening, but this is information is known, and requires no high-powered intellectual analysis to make sense of. It's knowledge that emerges spontaneously, given a little stillness and space to breathe. Old habits, old doubts, old sorrows (as old friends), as well as whatever fresh hell I've been putting myself through just kind of emerge fully known. It doesn't take a lot to understand them, just a bit of patience to acknowledge them and give them a bit of time on center stage, after too many hours/days/years of waiting in the wings. So this is an opportunity to hush the golf announcer further. Muted just far enough to hear if something important inadvertently escapes his stream of consciousness, but down far enough not to distract from the proceedings.

Maybe the purpose of such a dramatic physiological display is simply to create a moment to acknowledge what should no longer be ignored. Sometimes the inner puppy just has to howl and the much-praised intellect needs to just sit the fuck down and listen.