Good Grief 281

Point of perception

All the troops have gathered; the light in the elm, the swifts, the martins and the swallows, a horse (thinking of Houyhnhnms of gulliver's travels). And Beethoven. As I eat supper. Just as we would have done. I bothered to put the table up, the cloth, and to eat properly with wine. The martin shimmers, catching the light under her wing. We all know Stonehenge is just over there. We are all connected.
It's taken me until now. And maybe only just this now. But here it is.
And I contemplate some notes. Not as good as Beethoven's but my own.
At last, briefly, I have broken out of the crippling place that just wants an end as soon as possible.
I have thought that I should write some notes. It is case of Jekyll and Hyde. If I watch myself I might practice better. Only yesterday, or the day before, I was thinking about humour and the categories of DSM. No one mentions humour. Our capacity to extract a smile, anything, can equal the difference between one place and another. Grief from depression. Life from death.

I visited this place today. My husband worked here as a young man. He was very ill and hospitalised for a while. The woman he worked for was very kind and seemed to recognise his troubles. He would talk fondly of her in his later years. No-one working there knew of this lady but I found some chaps sat on the steps of the down and out bar next door who did. I was made up.
Searching out tenuous links With the dead seems to feel grounding. I'm sure that must seem utterly bizarre and looking in I imagine people might judge it morbid, 'stuck grief', whatever....it seems to give me something fragile but solid to help me keep going.
As I journeyed this ancient landscape and watched the hoards walk around the Stonehenge perimeter I realised that is in some way part of the same process....some kind of subliminal sense of past selves that seems to ground our experience of 'now', even if we don't have any idea of how or why and it gets bizarrely packaged and commercialised.