This blog reminds me more than anything of the principle of impermanence.
I went through the grief of the last few posts and came out the other side. Nothing lasts forever.
Tonight, I think about how much joy I feel. Connection with my son has never been sweeter. In the last five weeks, since getting clean, I have been more present for him. I sit down and play with him so much more, instead of being off in my emails or lost in my various addictive obsessions. My patience quota has increased significantly, and so much more I am able to hold back from yelling or nagging or snapping at him. I feel myself being the mother I want to be.
I feel like a Sufi mystics these days. I sit in meditation early mornings alternately calling on the Beloved, and sitting quietly in the presence of the Beloved. I am the Lover, and what transpires between us is Love. It is something much better described by Hafiz and Rumi.
Every day it comes clear that this is the connection I have been longing for. It is the clearest truth I know: in all the men I sought, in all the sex I chased after, I was only seeking that essential Oneness that is at the core of all spiritual traditions.
There is nothing wrong with earthly love, or sex or any of that, but for me they were unconscious substitutes for what I really craved. Because I never found anyone to love and love me over the past two years, because even the “love” connections evaporated as suddenly as they were made, because no amount of sex brought me the connection I sought, my addictions just kicked in harder. I tried to obliterate the self in destructive ways, because there was nothing sacred to lose myself in.
Here I am, today, clear and clean. I am an unpolluted channel. I’m happy and astounded to report that I am beyond just “OK” with being single, I am completely, utterly, at peace with it. For the first time in years, I actually desire what is good for me. I don’t think that I have ever been able to say that, and certainly not for the last three years since my ex-husband moved out of the house.
(Do I still have pangs for him? Yes. To deny that would be lying to myself.)
I am to see him twice this week, far more often than I usually do, and for sustained periods of time, not just the pick up and drop off scenario. He is coming to a parent-teacher meeting at school tomorrow, and on Sami’s birthday we are throwing a party together at his school later in the week. There is progress here - from the ugly, uneasy hostility we had for the first six months in the year following his re-emergence into Sami’s life. It has now been an entire year since his return. Now our interactions are cordial. We don’t talk on the phone, but we email and send each other pictures of Sami. We text each other with “LOL’s” and sideways smiley faces. It feels almost human. If we couldn’t make our marriage work, this is what I have most hoped for. A friendly co-parenting relationship, the two of us working together to make our son’s childhood the best that it can be.
These days, fortified by my practice, I feel better able to face the vagaries of life. I feel them acutely, these joys, these moments of grief and sorrow. I don’t run away. I have devised so many ways of running away over the course of my life, and now I have chucked my running shoes aside and I am learning to stand still, to stay, to face it all. The gift in this is a deeper appreciation for life, the crazy fragility of it, and it fills my heart so full it feels as if it might burst.
Every morning, I wake up and cannot wait to spend time with the Beloved, feeling the power of stillness, practicing my skills in loving without holding back. It is the sweetest connection. It feels as if I am being forged in some new fire, the old burning away, making way for a me living a life I haven’t yet begun to imagine.
Welcome to this blog - my chronicle of the illuminating, character-building path of single parenthood. I'm making this up as I go along. My life is my practice, and my five year-old son is my greatest teacher.