October 16, 2011
As of late, I have felt too tired and sick to realign my mind so the default status of depression and frustration has virtually usurped me. I'm not particularly sure why depression is my default status, but I surmise it may have to do with the profound dissatisfaction I have with society. This is no new news. Perhaps it is the mounds and mounds of junk mail we are bombarded with, or the trite, impersonal conversation between myself and my neighbors, or the ridiculousness of television (most especially the vain, schadenfreuden-esque reality shows) or the vision-less, idiocy of the tea party wack-nuts, or the abusers of children, women, men, animals and/or the environment, or the wounded veterans, or the monotony of marriage, or my miniscule paycheck for the mounds of effort I put into teaching. To combat all of this, I escape into imagination, my writing, and I haven't been able to do that. I haven't been able to fully recuperate from the world. Moreover, the house is a mess, there is hair everywhere -both mine and Josie's- toothpaste globules in the sink, the ring around the tub, an endless supply of dishes, the crumbs on the kitchen counter. What I have found is that virtually everything in this world takes some sort of effort, and to realign your mind is no different. So what I sit down and meditate for today is grace: the gift of well-being and peace that comes without effort.
This past week I experienced grace for the first time in years. I have been especially apprehensive to carry three babies, but I decided to do it because I could not bear to “reduce” one. So I was going to involve myself with the monumental effort of carrying triplets. Last Friday when we went for the ultrasound to see how they were progressing, Baby A and Baby B were jumping and gliding across their sacs like little nymphs. Baby C, however, was curled on itself, still. There was no flickering of heartbeat. I wept when I saw the little thing. Baby C had given up. I did not realize this was grace at the time- I was filled with grief and empathy because Baby C, believe you me, I feel like giving up too, sometimes, and I say to you, Godspeed, little one, stay behind the veil until you've got all the strength you can muster up to make it into this world, because, my angel, it will take nothing less.
So I was spared my efforts and bittersweet grace had descended and I pray with great fervor for the two bless ones who remain.