From my journal for Saturday, March 9
I realized, walking Mocha, that it’s not dying I’m afraid of but living. After two months with a sore knee, having to use a walker and a cane, and now facing an operation, it’s just getting harder and harder to keep going. Too much work to just keep functioning and nothing meaningful enough — or things that are meaningful are too rare. Sitting with friends at dinner, writing group, Meeting in person, meditation group — that’s it. Not enough. O yes, talking with Elizabeth, and talking with Erica, also worth doing.
Then something comes up like having to stop contributions to causes I support because I can’t afford it. And Mocha, who is also deteriorating, and someday I will have to make the painful decision to help her die.
I am so tired. Not as tired as yesterday, but still makes it hard to get up and do things.
While I was showering and washing my hair I realized that if I knew God existed and that He/She had given me a job to do — Journey, Neskaya, blog, and a further job to sit with the dying — then I would go on with good spirits.
So the problem is not feeling connected with Spirit. I look up and see the trees, and feel the energy of their spirits reaching out.
I realize that being traumatized very young, by being left alone, was a confrontation with death. Trauma happens when the reptilian brainstem gets the message that death is near. So this confrontation with death triggers that old stuff. Having trouble believing in “God” is connected with not being able to trust my alcoholic parents. I suppose in some ways it’s amazing that I have ANY sense of Spirit. I realize that going into the woods saved me as a child. Nature has always meant more to me than anything else. If I’m looking to be connected with Spirit, maybe I should be looking to Nature, as I do at the end of this piece of writing.