and now we are on the subject, one of the things i really (REALLY) don't enjoy about February is how it sticks in my face my inability to enjoy things i don't enjoy.
hmmm....
seriously, i have done everything i could: i've read all the right chirpy sounding books that tell me exactly what to do to be happy, i've applied all the ancient Eastern techniques (both gloomy and chirpy) to find and securely attach myself to the bliss of the present moment, i've tried to sink my teeth into my kids' necks and draw from their young blood all the joy of life so sadly lacking from my old brittle bones, i've tried gratitude journalling, standing on my head, eating less sugar, eating more sugar, exercise, fresh air, taking on less things, taking on more things, listening to inspiring people, dancing, artistic endeavours, a media fast, and a media feast... oh, and of course sleeping right through the whole thing (see earlier posts).
i stopped short of recreational and other drugs (unless you count a few weeks of daily paracetamol to reduce the effects of dental surgery (old and brittle my teeth are too...)), but only because a) i am too chicken and b) i am too chicken.
but no... i still hate February. Or rather, i hate myself, my children, my husband, my work, my friends, my house, my city, my century, and life in general... and it just happens to be February?
Nah.... long, long (old and brittle i am...) experience tells me that this too shall pass, right around mid-March.
here is something: i told you that i go to the forest nearly every day, right? and how amazing it is, to see the forest, and hear it, every day anew. what an incredible, time-dissolving experience it is, and the magical encounters i have with the forest creatures, and how just being there, immersing myself in this living flow day after day after day heals me to the core of my being, and makes my soul sing.
right?
well, this morning i sat on the forest floor, leaning against the usual tree, under a vague drizzle of a rain, ruminating for what could easily have been half a century on some dark train of thought, when i became distracted by a terrible racket. seven or eight tits had flown in out of nowhere and settled in a bush right next to me. believe it or not, those bloody birds just sat there chirping like there was no tomorrow, being so f...ing noisy... Unbelievable! i tried to concentrate on what i was doing (which was?...), but there was no way i could, not with that racket, they were making so much noise, i swear, i could feel white hot rage rising in my throat... in the end i just stood up, and shooed the little bastards away.
seriously, stupid birds, can't they leave me alone???!!! like ever???!!! can't the world ever ever just leave me alone for a f....ing minute???!!!!!
there. that's February. discontent, rage, despair, hopelessness, lack of meaning and purpose, feeling lost, martyrdom, sadness, more sadness. February.
and it stubbornly (stubbornly) refuses to get fixed.
a wise woman came to visit this morning. i was annoyed with her because of how inconsiderate she was, dropping by like that when the baby has such a cold, and the teenager is still sick, and none of us got any sleep at all all night, and i have so much to do, and....
(i was the one to invite her) (i was so glad she came)
she said there is no need to fix February. or me.
she said (or rather i heard her say) (so maybe she did...): maybe this is always there, underneath things, and it's only in February that you get to be with it.
only in February, only after the very last leaf, and even the snow, has come and gone, only then, just then, can you feel and see what you spend the rest of the year trying to cover up.
only in February do i get to sing over these bones.
hmmmm.....
let's just say it's not a chirpy song.
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