Through a dark lens

Is this a black day, or at least darker than usual? I woke feeling overwhelmed by the weight of real life today. Last night I asked Michael if maybe all this spiritual growth and musing I'm immersed in is just my way of living up high, high enough to see that things are in serious disarray on the ground in many ways; observing but not really participating?

Too many people. Not enough money. Not enough contribution to the maintenance of this home, and everyone but us being just fine about that. Michael is Cancer, and being at home on the ground is part of his nature. It is he who gives the most attention to the mechanics of daily life, and though I'm making a real effort to contribute more to things of this world I do live in my Aquarian clouds quite a bit. I'm floating around in deep philosophical revelations and no one's doing the dishes. I'm building houses from cards of empathy and acceptance and he is firmly rooted in accountability and the correctness of certain obligations. We do all owe our fair share in this large community in a small container. Am I being escapist and calling it spiritual?

I can feel his frustration, and it becomes my own. When I tune into his observations and see him suffer they become mine and rational or not, I cry because I feel it's my fault. "It" being my fault is a favorite frayed book that I've had since childhood, and I know the story so well I don't even have to look at the pages to describe the illustrations. He and I are united in our desires for our lives, in a way I've never shared with another human being, yet I am so easily pulled down the rabbit hole of philosophy and "what if" speculation. Colors, lifetimes, planes of existence, string theory, the spectrum of perception; mention any of these or an infinite palette of other topics and I will go for two hours of discussion while no one but him does the laundry, or even notices that we're the only ones who supply the soap.

We need a plan, we have a plan. We have little or no time alone to discuss what needs to happen to transform life here on the ground. I have a disease, am I given too much leeway on its account? I can hardly hold all the important things in one place between my ears because they share the space with so much pain, but he's in pain too and where am I? Writing about metaphysical concepts or pondering time as a linear force and why it only seems to move in one direction. I feel guilty, I feel sad, I feel as though I commit the great sin of sloth, with pain as my grand excuse. I have four children, even though I gave birth to only three of them, and much of my attention is given to making excuses or simply looking at the bright side. These are not arguments, because we both believe the same things, and yet we talk and talk and he's frustrated and I want to cry. I'm ticking away the finite moments of a marriage that can only last till death do us part, and those moments are being spent in angst and discomfort far more often than I would wish.

I feel that since he's being entirely logical, my usual talent, it's me who needs to do differently. My head hurts so bad and I need to find more workspace on my table in there for some real construction and repair. It's like pushing aside the sea to get more room on the beach to spread out the blueprint though, the water just rushes back in as fast as I try to sweep it away. I cried last night, but not enough, so the residue of tears is like mold on the walls of the inside of my head. If not black, this day is at least several shades darker than I'm used to lately, and nothing shines.

I create, promote or allow everything in my experience. Knowing this, it must be me who needs to change, I can't let Michael feel he is alone in the lifeboat while I float like a weather balloon tethered by a thin line. I feel powerless, and helpless in the face of this, and I need to be something solid my husband can lean on, as he is for me. The first two cards in any house you construct with them lean equally on each other, and they have to balance before you add more. I feel like the only thing that is solid about me is the love and the pain, and I keep slipping over into mirror-world where everything is connected and anything is possible. Could I love this man any more, could I be any less helpful? "This is all your fault Laura" echoes in my mother's voice and I am not finding the knob to lower the volume. There's a real need for me to step up here, and I can't remember how to find my own feet.

I love all these children, and want them around me, and I also want to live in a treehouse far above all of this with only the man I chose for the rest of my time; when it's just he and I there is none of this, only hope and possibility. I want to truly feel my connection to all that is, and I also want to be just us two. I want to be the two of Cups, not so much the two of Pentacles endlessly juggling near the agitated sea. Love and pain, endlessly passing from hand to hand inside the lemniscate. I want a better yet non-narcotic pill to ease my head so that there is room for real planning and manifestation, not just the blows of the invisible hammer. Today's thousand-word offering is just "I want, I need, I feel." and goes nowhere, like a dog chasing it's tail.



Could there be any worse time to exist purely from the neck up? Is there ever a good time for that? I know that it's not now, but really, is it ever the perfect time to forget I'm navigating a whole body and not just a head floating through space?