Another Sojourn in the Pit

Journal for Thursday, August 1

3rd cup of tea:  It was beautiful outside when I walked Mocha, cool, sunny, sparkling.  But I could not experience it.  This mood doesn’t have the weight of depression, it’s more a sense of why bother? why bother to cook and eat?  Well, I have to do that to walk the dog, and I do care about the dog, even though I’m almost ready to say I don’t give a damn about anything else.  But that’s not true.  I do care about elephants, I do care about people who are refugees from violence, who have nothing to eat, I do care that the oceans are clogged and strangled with plastic…  I care about all of it, but I can’t do anything about it.  I feel totally helpless, and worthless, a miserable blot on the beauty of the earth.  But then I think that I’m not the only blot.  True, but it’s also true that I have no excuse.  I’m safe here, have food, shelter, am well taken care of, not targeted by Trump and his SS.  But I see that the system that grinds down those who they’ve declared dispensable, has also ground me down.

I’m reading “God So Loved the World” and I just got to the Crucifixion, to the cry of “My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me!”  Yes, that’s where I am now.  Forsaken by God.  Rejected by God.  Useless.  Nothing to give.

“God So Loved the World” is the life of Jesus, told by Elizabeth Goudge.

I read through the bits of my blog, where I say I am a shaman, and my work in the underworld is valuable to the whole, and I wonder who she’s talking about.  Not me.

Am I sitting here feeling sorry for myself?  No, it’s more a kind of hopeless anger — no use being angry at her, she’s not worth the energy.  It’s not like she could make something of herself if I gave her a kick.  I can’t find any compassion for her.  She thought she was so great.  What an asshole.

“Asshole” is not a word I use.  Not sure which part of me is using it.  I guess it’s the part of me that refuses to do something someone suggests to me that will help me, that sounds like a good suggestion, and inside I feel the closing down and backing up, so I say “No,” feeling like a bad person.  No.  I’m tired of the struggle.

An attempt to do something practical.  Deal with the mail, pay bills.  I open a Calendar from the African Wildlife people, there’s a picture of elephants on the front, I throw away the request for money and I start to cry.  It’s not that I don’t have the money, they will keep me here even after I run out of money, but it feels wrong to take advantage of their generosity and spend more than I absolutely have to.  O gosh I feel so trapped.

I sent a good sized check a while back, to help train people and dogs to track and stop poachers.  I love elephants, I consider them intelligent and caring, and better “people” than human people.  Some of this I learned from Deena Metzger.

As a result of revisiting my reverence for Elephant People, I signed up for a monthly gift to the African Wildlife Foundation.  I feel a little better, but I have tears in my eyes.

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