To know pain is to understand gentleness
You don't have a home. You've only got me.
The emptiness of the house, the passing of my little blind dog, the dread of a horrible time at work, the full impact that the house guests are truly gone, the fear of poverty and the grievous fear of caring for loved ones, the other dogs and herself, her hard drive failing and discarding things she loved and worked on, thousands of recipes, photo's music and memories, have eroded my friend's pluck.
Pluck. The pulling of a feather.
I have empathy. What good is empathy or compassion to a drowning woman?
Caring for others is always a tremendous burden. Its only lightened by the success of the care. That's not very cogent . . . I'm a good negative example of that statement. The only thing I can deal with is survival.
Part of my survival is emotional - the survival of my puppy and my friend are mainstays of my survival. Without them my survival is is a hollow-less thing, a cynical stoicism that's devoid of light.
Regretfully I'm not very well equipped to help in letting anyone else survive. I can't assist. That displeases me but it doesn't throw me into depression. That's not toughness on my part. Its one of the advantages of not being very smart, I think. Smart people can envision a bigger world than I can. Intelligence lets you feel where you fit in that world and lets you shape yourself, forge yourself into a piece that allows you to fit happily into that world.
Like a lot of successful women my friend has inadvertently let her self worth become tied to her success. There's nothing wrong with that. We all do it. Some of us can even get it from the outside, like when our fave team wins a game.
I look at my friend and I see much to be proud of: The love she's generated, the care she's given to her family and to her co-workers and through her job to the world. I see a nice house and beautiful dogs, dogs that are thriving. Without her they would be dead or eking out a miserable existence. The dogs would only be surviving because that's what dogs do.
I see her home as filled with beautiful treasures, trophies of love and respect for others. Overflowing with her being able to take the difficult steps to caring for herself while never forgetting her commitment to the community or side stepping her precious burden of the others she's brought into her life.
I don't see her as a goddess. I've known enough goddesses to not like them much. I see her as a human being who's weathered and endured and still sees the smile hidden inside.
I don't think there is a way to ever let anyone see themselves as you see them. Ridiculous but so. Its why lesser men resort to poetry and why the real poets actually exist, need to exist.
Sleep is the poetry that we all have to heal ourselves, I think. Depressed people and the psychotic don't sleep. In sleep the brain works on healing itself through the vista of dreams. Dreams are the little stories the brain creates to lead us to the conclusions we already know but have forgotten. A whole branch of medical science exists to try and figure out what those little stories mean. Sometimes they don't mean awake what our brain intended them to mean while we're asleep.
I sometimes think that those doc's are wrong. The stories the brain tells ourselves are rich and personal. If someone feels like sharing that dream with you and telling you their story its a privilege and not a gimmick to pretend insight. And I figure if a person is smart enough to remember a dream and to be troubled by it, generally they're smart enough to figure out for themselves and to be calmed by the glorious story their own brain has manufactured.
But what do I know about stuff like that.
I feel helpless watching my friend struggle. I think that I must be a huge disappointment to her. I generally disappoint people a disportioncate amount of the time. Its to her credit that it bothers me that I'm concerned over disappointing her.
Back in the days when I needed an agent, my agent said to me, "Never trust anyone until you see what's in it for them." I thought at the time he sounded like Burrough's agent from "Naked Lunch". I thought it was sad that it turned out to be a wise saying.
I don't doubt that my friend will pull through all of this and continue on in the chirpy, happy mode she's evinced most of her life. I worry about it and want it to happen with each new morning. For her to not be worn down by life in this world, by the capitalism, by the politics, the greed and the lack of sympathy. She's been doing it and I want her to go on doing it.
Like I said, I'm only good now at surviving. I already said it. I need my puppy and my friend to be out there and being happy. It doesn't matter much whether I'm a part of that happiness or not. I mean it matters to me and for my happiness. I want to be there and enjoy all the richness that they both offer. I'm that selfish, for sure. But it doesn't matter much for my survival. What matters is that they both continue on and keep smiling, fighting, playing and scrapping.
If your the kind of guy like my old agent you can see "that's what's in it for me".
Survival is a pretty big deal. A pretty big reason to trust.
If it weren't we as a species would be able to shut ourselves off with a thought, instead we can't even shut ourselves off by ourselves and can most of the time be talked out of shutting ourselves off with mere words with no promises.
I'm really starting to hate fireworks.