I find the difference between a flesh wound and a soul wound is largely having a sense of what the intention in any given thing is or may be reasonably guessed. As expected, knowing the latest ending was motivated out of a sense of good intention largely averts anger. Not completely, of course; the tired “fear and disappear” refrain wears on me. Enough so that I’m pulling back from various social sites and interests because I’m just not willing to put up with it. No, not even to try and get to what I need.
I was also correct in my statement of the other night that “any is enough”; while I certainly wish the beautiful things I saw and experienced could sustain, the simple fact is that such sustainment requires interest, willingness and effort and these things are never something that a being can shoulder alone when the context is more than solitary in nature.
The emotional spasming is mostly done. The sense of happy hopefulness is already sloughing off like so much dead skin. In its place, a touch of melancholy, the usual saudade, and an unexpected acknowledgement (at least, a much earlier one than I anticipated): the things we say are so we make so. Learning? Progress? Hah. Maybe. A crooked smile for it and not much more in this moment.
I am thankful to my friends who have closed ranks to listen, to understand, and to nod when they could not indicate understanding. Thank you, all of you. My life is richer and certainly more wonderful for your tender presence.
And, of course, thank you to you, (J.); both for what you could and did give and for being wise enough to admit to what you couldn’t and therefore, wouldn’t try to give. I realize and accept that it doesn’t matter what I thought about your possibility or capability; such things are inevitably the soverign realm of oneself.
And so it goes…