Fr. James Aloysius Shea O’Brien, SJ passed on the 23rd of December 2023. Our memorial page for him is here. I have been writing him letters since. This is one. To my dear friend Jim, The thing I did yesterday took me all the hours I could sit upright and this morning left me feeling like I'd been smashed by a truck.
I am feeling the draw to death these past days and I am also feeling the joy of being alive and I acknowledge myself as no where as close to that edge as I imagine you are. A lovely float on the lake yesterday watching the light make turtle shell cymatics on the bottom of the lake. I wanted to be on the water and fill my eyes with it after a blistering attack of ripping, rending, rage in the morning followed by a full on ugly cry. I didn't realize I would bump into people I know at the beach and have to socialize a bit, experience the awkward divide and feel conquered by it some more. What do you say to someone mourning their young boys growing into their masculinity. "Don't worry, if you got them vaccinated they're pretty much neutered by now anyway?"
Charlie towed me on my paddleboard behind him on his , as I flopped diagonally across the board, toes trailing in the water on one side, hat brim and elbows dipping on the other, feeling the water on my board through my body. I was deeply content and refreshed. And still in and out of a major episode of "I'd rather not be here; I'd rather not do this anymore." at not quite the same time...but squeezing in on it.
It is a confusing juxtaposition leading into a "what's wrong with me", exposition. There's a feeling of giving up that's way more sucky than surrender and very strong all the same. I feel invited to do violence, inclined to self destruct and very motivated to give up. And perhaps it's time to give up. Give up all the ways and all the time and all the money and all the effort and all the self abandonment I seem to believe is required in order to be worthy of anyone's time or attention, to be of service to the world based on the belief that I need to earn a place at the table or I'm not worth the air I breathe.
I'm out of breath, I've never been much of an earner and I'm ready to take an axe to the table. I feel like I'm drowning in all the expression I have not allowed to pass my lips lest I do harm.
How does crying about the harm being done help? How does not crying about the harm being done not help? How does crying about the harm being done, not help? How does not crying about the harm help? Is the suffering I'm experiencing evidence of my own disfunction, am I displaying my loyalty to the victim flag or being a healthy human with valid emotional experiences and expression. I'm so angry and full of rage I'm shitting on the beauty I'm creating. How does shitting on the beauty I'm creating help or hurt? Maybe it just offers a more robust scent, flavour and visual that enables me to feel connected to something in a world of negation and corruption.
We so need both of these. The awareness and honoring of death, the joyful vitality of being alive. And then our experience of livingbeingness is so much more expansive, attains so much depth. I'm so grateful, you sharing this story here and me getting to imagine it and feel into it. Huge love to you sister. ❤️🔥
I am feeling the draw to death these past days and I am also feeling the joy of being alive and I acknowledge myself as no where as close to that edge as I imagine you are. A lovely float on the lake yesterday watching the light make turtle shell cymatics on the bottom of the lake. I wanted to be on the water and fill my eyes with it after a blistering attack of ripping, rending, rage in the morning followed by a full on ugly cry. I didn't realize I would bump into people I know at the beach and have to socialize a bit, experience the awkward divide and feel conquered by it some more. What do you say to someone mourning their young boys growing into their masculinity. "Don't worry, if you got them vaccinated they're pretty much neutered by now anyway?"
Charlie towed me on my paddleboard behind him on his , as I flopped diagonally across the board, toes trailing in the water on one side, hat brim and elbows dipping on the other, feeling the water on my board through my body. I was deeply content and refreshed. And still in and out of a major episode of "I'd rather not be here; I'd rather not do this anymore." at not quite the same time...but squeezing in on it.
It is a confusing juxtaposition leading into a "what's wrong with me", exposition. There's a feeling of giving up that's way more sucky than surrender and very strong all the same. I feel invited to do violence, inclined to self destruct and very motivated to give up. And perhaps it's time to give up. Give up all the ways and all the time and all the money and all the effort and all the self abandonment I seem to believe is required in order to be worthy of anyone's time or attention, to be of service to the world based on the belief that I need to earn a place at the table or I'm not worth the air I breathe.
I'm out of breath, I've never been much of an earner and I'm ready to take an axe to the table. I feel like I'm drowning in all the expression I have not allowed to pass my lips lest I do harm.
How does crying about the harm being done help? How does not crying about the harm being done not help? How does crying about the harm being done, not help? How does not crying about the harm help? Is the suffering I'm experiencing evidence of my own disfunction, am I displaying my loyalty to the victim flag or being a healthy human with valid emotional experiences and expression. I'm so angry and full of rage I'm shitting on the beauty I'm creating. How does shitting on the beauty I'm creating help or hurt? Maybe it just offers a more robust scent, flavour and visual that enables me to feel connected to something in a world of negation and corruption.
We so need both of these. The awareness and honoring of death, the joyful vitality of being alive. And then our experience of livingbeingness is so much more expansive, attains so much depth. I'm so grateful, you sharing this story here and me getting to imagine it and feel into it. Huge love to you sister. ❤️🔥
and to you, my sister. thank you for your edit and the inspiration and opportunity to post.
I feel a zing, a sizzle and frisson every time you grace our comments. It is my delight!