The very night when everything changed was a calm, clear night. The sky was dark, very dark, up on our hilltop home in the middle of a small island in the Caribbean. The stars were glancing down on us with flashes of insight. And I was in the throes of it.
It was late at night and I had long exhausted Jim with my demands - wailing and sobbing in a terrifying rage, alone and hurt in a world that appeared so callous.
I recognized that this was the part where I go alone. So I left the apartment with a bundle of dried sage and a lighter. I didn't think about what I was doing, I just did.
I dragged a nearby wrought-iron chair over to a spot under the stars that glanced around, huge and bright. There was a slight wind whispering around me. I sat in the chair, hugging my knees and grasping the sage tightly in my hands, and cried and cried and cried as loud and horrifically and unbounded as possible. It helped to know I was on a hilltop on an island far, far away from anybody. I wailed and shrieked and bellowed like a professional mourner in India, pouring out all my grief and sorrow and Rage. I allowed myself to be as loud and undignified as I've never done before. Then, I forced myself to continue belting out the anguish of my soul, all that massive fucking heartache lying goopy in my innards.
On a remote hilltop on a remote island in the middle of a sea in the middle of the night, I was a woman with a broken heart putting herself back together with the deepest, darkest song of woeful lamentation and brute sorrow.
The most raw and visceral and torrential crashing of the soul came out of me that night, ripping apart the seams of some hobbled visage cobbled together in a hasty attempt at normalcy.
Until, like a hollow wind instrument, I collapsed into a thin reed of grass.
Then, I began applying love as a healing salve to the Pain that had shown itself. This Pain that I invited in, welcomed, and gave a stage and a microphone and an audience to.
I squeezed my soft and clammy arms that felt sweet like a child's and gave myself big, strong hugs, whispering I love you's over and over and over again.
I love you,
I love you,
I love you SO MUCH,
I love you SO FUCKING MUCH,
I LOVE YOU!!!!!
Then, I lit the sage and let it burn at the door of our casita in a tin jar lid. It went up in flames, stoked by the breeze, and in the morning, nothing was left but ashes and residue from the fire.
Since then, moments of Rage have occurred, but each time, it has gotten easier and easier to handle by following this process.
First, I sit alone with the pain - no distractions like alcohol, drugs, food, or movies. I feel all of it, screaming/roaring/shrieking/howling/bawling (maybe into a pillow or the warm shoulder of a lover and friend), letting go of all of it, allowing it passage through, giving it voice and expression, even if it hurts so much, too much, I can't do it - I can't do it - I can do it.
And then, I give myself some goooooood loving's.
This is so crucial. Never forget this part. I caress into my soul the healing balm of love like a warm and soft and sweet lavender shea butter salve.
I do this by giving myself what I used to expect and demand from others: hugs and kisses and reassurances that everything will be okay, sweet murmurs of love and clucks of comfort. My higher self tends to my inner child like the sweetest, strongest, and most patient mother a child could have.
And this has made all the difference.