It was so clear this morning, sung with a clarity that I haven’t heard since last autumn. He was singing from an eave somewhere along North Road. It was too dark to see exactly where. I hobbled and wobbled along, my knee still rigid and sore, but hearing him helped. It was good to be out, to smell the air and hear his song. She can’t do this. Not any more.
I wasn’t expecting it. A few minutes before he and I had bickered and I was cross or at least out of sorts. And then suddenly I was upended, feet heading upwards and falling, hitting my wrist, my left knee against the tarmac. I was lucky. Nothing was broken. He drove up behind me, taking some time to roll down the window and ask what had happened. He took the umbrella and I continued my walk, shaken.
He said my name. I heard him say it twice. And later, when I played it back, I heard him say it a third time. Then he played my request. It was a lovely thing. I felt chosen, just for a moment, a delicious moment. Thank you.
What would it feel like to accept all that the world does, makes and perpetrates? Though, of course, it isn’t the world as such that is doing all this, but us, its inhabitants. What would acceptance of all that men and women do feel like, or even look like? There is so much that I cannot change, try as I might. Is acceptance of this an act of positivity, an empowering thing or the opposite? Acceptance feels like a going towards something, or at least a willingness to look at that which frightens, appals or even disgusts. Sometimes there is no other option, other than turning one’s face away completely. And I cannot do that.
It went well. They seem pleased with my progress. But it didn’t abate my anxiety, if anything it increased it. He tells me to take pleasure in how far I have come. And I can see he is right, but the fear, that overriding fear of failing next time still dominates. It’s in my power to change such an attitude, I am sure of it, but how to actually bring that about is, at present, beyond me. I dreamt of being in darkness, of not knowing the address of where I was, and of not being able to locate the light switch. It is all symbolic, clearly, a represenation of how I am currently feeling about my next chapter. I need courage. Will it be forthcoming?
I ventured out in it. It looked a different place. I saw noone except a couple who seemed to be up to something in the block of flats opposite. My boots crunched satisfyingly in the snow. There was no wind, nothing stirred. I felt braver than I did yesterday.
I fret about falling, too much probably. It makes me body tight with fear. I take ginger steps. And then, not walking, not striding and stirring up my heart leaves me guilt ridden and unexercised. I must just wait it out. Tomorrow will be rain and a thaw. For now, acceptance of what is enough.
It’s frightening, unreal, shocking, and yet, has it always happened throughout history, those with might and power taking and imposing on those without? Why am I so aghast? Their intentions are clear. And who can stop them? Appeasment and turning away seems to be the nature of politics these days. Let good win out. Shall the meek still inherit the earth or must there be a flood first?
Something he said jarred in me and I did it, I slammed the door. I’d tested the act in my head before committing it. I saw it all. And, after a few moments felt rather silly. I cannot live well when I behave badly. It rancours. It doesn’t sit. He knows and he always forgives. As do I. Mostly.
Does it feel like New Year? Not yet. Perhaps it won’t. Perhaps it will just gently, unobtrusively morph into another January. The man on the radio with the honeyed urbane voice said that the shape of it will feel strange. Yes. The numbers do and the evenness of them. But in some ways, though I miss the escapism of noise and spectacle, it is easier this sliding, this easing into it. Accept what is and be grateful. That will do. It is enough.