Self-respect II

You do this stuff, then you do it again; then you forget, and revert, then rediscover it, and do it again; and sometimes the full beauty and pain of it comes into consciousness, and it is hard to bear.

To the Quaker meeting. Philip reads from Advices and Queries, considering the calls for more bombing in Syria. If you are being bombed, does the intention of the bomber affect how you think about it? wondered Liz, after. Only in that I would seek to thwart him. I stood to speak: there is so much anger and fear, of those who fear refugees and terrorists, and I want to respect and love the people who are angry and fearful, which means hearing the anger and fear. And I want to respect and love those who will make the decision on bombing: though I stand by the pacifist answer, I must show respect for those who think differently. “Slow, sour, dim” intensifies the beauty by contrast.

Ah. It is always about me: hear the anger, indeed. In afterword, Peter says how few people it needs to get an MP to take an interest: ten, in the case of the planning issue he complained of.

In the afternoon to K– Quaker meeting, their “Winter celebration”. Three people have come from Bedford to demonstrate their singing bowls. The woman who has made them, by beating the alloy, is very thin with short hair.

They strike one. Immediately, it penetrates me, getting to the centre of my heart. Oh, no, not this. They continue striking, and also reading poetry. “There is a field”- “I’ll meet you there,” I know it. “Let yourself open to the sound”- I wish I could not. Here is my sadness aloneness regret. I am crying. Possibly I needed a good cry-

It is not “low functioning me”. It is responsive, fragile, truthful me, me in the world, soft me which is beautiful, vulnerable, necessary, a part of me needing my love, my feminine part which I had to deny, which I have to allow.

I might, just, manage the first stage of metta meditation.

I am very glad Peter R. is here and can drive me home, rather than me being forced to cycle. After a three Samaritans phone calls week, I walked in the park and spoke to a woman photographing wild-fowl and hoping for a good sunset.

That psychiatrist really shook me up: probably for the better. It feels as if I integrate myself. And I will be here again, I cannot just do the work of acceptance once, and it be done.

Blake, Songs of Innocence frontispiece

3 thoughts on “Self-respect II

    • That field:

      Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
      there is a field. I’ll meet you there.

      When the soul lies down in that grass,
      the world is too full to talk about.
      Ideas, language, even the phrase “each other” doesn’t make any sense.

      We call the poet “Rumi”, which I read somewhere means “Byzantine”. Wrongdoing and rightdoing fill my mind, and possibly I am more integrated, and possibly I am better able to be integrated and notice when I am blanking bits. Bracketing bits for a limited time is definitely a useful coping strategy, but not outright burial or separation.

      I do feel better. Thank you. I have one more hand-wringing post called self-respect III coming up, which may be a move towards integration, but am less depressed than last week. Though while I never text when drunk, I see that texting while depressed may be a problem too.

      Liked by 1 person

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