Letting Go

There are so many things in life that you can’t fight for, like love, peace, happiness. At various points I’ve tried to fight for them all, with a greedy desperation, thinking that they all must come to me at some point if I just tried hard enough. But all I ended up doing was driving them away. In reality, in that fight, you eventually end up fighting against what it is you’re trying to gain, because in fighting it can do nothing but take a negative turn. It’s not just the friendly fire, but also the stress and pressure of the fight. Fighting can only ever do but one thing: destroy.

I’d realised this lesson before, but I kept repeating the mistake through my dark hours, when everything kept feeling like it was falling apart. I was so desperate for something to go right for once, for something to cling on to, but it all kept slipping through my fingers, pulling away from me. So many people running scared, so many pitfalls that I didn’t see in my distraction. It was only when I was on the verge of losing everything that I understood what I needed to do: let go.

It’s like that film, The NeverEnding Story. Everything is breaking, almost everything is gone, but just at that point when all has collapsed, the boy stands up and lets go of his own pain in order to save them all. That’s the point where I am at now, except the only person I need to save is myself. Unfortunately I can’t wish for a luck dragon, nor can I wish myself a better world, but I can wish to be a stronger and better person, thereby making it a reality by working towards it. I have a choice to move on from all the trauma and mistakes from my past, and I can only do that by letting it all go, accepting it, instead of fighting it.

Luckily not everything is gone. I have somewhere to live, I have a few good friends who haven’t yet run away screaming. I owe it to them as much as myself to finally become the person I am meant to be, rather than just the damaged product of my past. I think I am finally learning to live.

The White Spaces In Between

All the white spaces in between. That’s what bright sunlight reflecting off of the sea is like, blinding and painful, yet at the same time beautiful. You don’t want to look, because it can hurt, but at the same time it’s irresistible. You are drawn into its wonder and its beauty, that place of absolute peace that’s found in the gentle near-stillness. A calm day, with softly-rolling waves, the visible heartbeat of the earth.

But it can turn, become turbulent. Raw fury lashing out, fighting against the invisible restraints that hold it bound, caught in the cycle and order of things, wishing to be set free. You remain mesmerised, trying to ride along with it, hoping that it doesn’t break you. The thrill of the ride somehow outweighing any fear. Yet the fear is still there and part of you wants to run away from it, but you can’t. Once you step on board, there is no escape.

Then it is calm once more, the wonder and joy is returned to your face. Somehow the peaceful calm and stillness is even more beautiful for having survived the turbulence. You want to stay there, basking in its glory forever. Let each wave wash over you, each ray from the sun, fulfilling you, making you whole again.

All of that, that is what love is. It can be raw, hungry, turbulent. It can be calm, gentle, peaceful. It can be blinding, it can sting, it can hurt. But, above all, it is beautiful. It is wonderful and fulfilling if you can learn to ride with it. All the fun, thrills, excitement, but with those moments of absolute terror as it drags you from one rock to another. Yet that feeling of completeness, that white space in between, that overrides it all. That experience in the shared moments, the connection, the inner peace, that is what makes it all worthwhile.

Returning to the World Beyond

It’s a bit bizarre after a few days, more or less shut away, trying to return to some sort of normality. Everything does feel different right now. Somewhat clearer, somewhat less agitating, but just as disappointing.

Leaving the abbey felt like leaving a safe place. It was no longer somewhere intimidating, but somewhere I could almost call “home”. The huge group of buildings looked smaller somehow in their familiarity, the strange corridors less dark and scary than on the first night.

That peculiar smell of old things and incense lingers in my clothing, my hair. There are fragments of songs, of the hymns, of conversations, still floating around in my head. Yet I’m at home now, with the floors dirtier than when I left and there still being a huge pile of washing as only one load has been done during my absence. The washing up done at the last minute before I return, the house in its clutteredness not as welcoming as it should be.

It’s odd, in a way, considering how unfriendly the house should feel, especially considering all the fights that have been had here of late, that I should still feel so peaceful and at ease with myself inside. I know as the days go on, that the tears will come again, as I move towards facing up to the decisions that need to be made. It’s not going to be easy, especially with all that needs to be packed, arranged and sorted, but I think I’m finally ready to move on and start to live again.

Listening to the Silence

I was quite wrong last night. I thought that I’d find it difficult to keep myself busy, but instead I haven’t really stopped. But, when I do, I hear the silence, and through it myself.

I’ve always been afraid of silence. That’s when my thoughts start up, often negative, the constant fight to make me afraid or bring me down. It can seem impossible to calm myself down in those moments. Yet somehow, in the past 24 hours, in the peace, quiet and overall friendliness of where I am, I seem to have somewhat succeeded.

Firstly, last night, I decided I’d go down to the reading room to read. Well, that didn’t happen. Some of the other guests were there, drinking beer. I then decided to give up my reading venture and join them. Drinking the local beer, whilst talking about nothing in particular, it hasn’t felt that good for a long time. I was relaxed, relaxed enough to sing along with the small, impromptu group from a random book of folk songs found on the shelf.

And this morning, I somehow managed to get up on time. Just. I slept fitfully and when I heard the bells ringing at quarter past six this morning, I was still dreaming and I wasn’t sure if they were real or not. I had a moment of not being sure if I was awake or asleep, then when I did wake up, I was even less sure! But I got up, got into the church, and was just fumbling around getting my book ready as the brothers walked in.

This afternoon I went for a long walk around the local area and had to go and buy myself a new hairbrush, as I’d left my old one at home. It’s past it, anyway, so it’s a good excuse, really. I ended up walking around for two hours, and I ache far more than I should simply because I don’t do it often enough anymore, but I also feel better for it.

So, with walking, taking part in the daily singing prayers, semi-socialising with the other guests, I haven’t had that much time to actually just sit on my own and think. Yet, in those moments when I do, some surprising things come out of the silence.

Peace.

It is an uneasy sort of peace at the moment. I still feel pain, in my heart and in my stomach, and I know that there are some big decisions ahead. But sitting alone, just listening to myself instead of fighting myself, has certainly brought some light to what decisions I need to make.

It has been surprising, also, how much sitting in on the services has helped, even though I am an unbeliever. It’s not just the routine, the ceremony, but the reflection. Even this evening, at my second evening prayers, I felt nervous, small, humble. I was able to follow the order of the songs with more confidence, yet I still felt intimidated by this great presence, the working abbey and the combined power of its believers. To hear, feel and see that, you can understand in a way why people would give up a complicated life for the simple one of service.

And, in that, I have come to where I am. I can only progress further if I give in, if I give over to the thoughts, the pains, the promises, give over to instead of fighting myself all the time.

The path I am on right now started some time ago now, but started properly a year ago. It is not necessarily taking me where I want to go, but it is taking me where I need to be. Being here at the abbey was an important next step. I just hope I can remember the lessons I’ve learnt once I’ve returned home.

Getting Away From it All

My life hasn’t been ideal of late, as you may have realised from my previous post. It’s brought me back to a point that I thought I’d never return to, a place I never wanted to see again.

If it’s not the eternal struggle to find work, not just good work but good work that I can get to easily whilst only being able to use public transport, then it’s something else, like the constant fighting at home, to a point where I no longer know where I should call home.

I have been aware for a while that it’s time to move on, but when you have limited financial means, it doesn’t make it that easy. Yes, I could go back to how I was before, and just run away from it all, but I know that that won’t solve the other problems that are still there.

Who am I? Who am I now? What have I really achieved in my life? Where am I going to? Questions, so many questions, all of which I need to be able to answer before I can truly move on.

At the suggestion of my psychologist, it was decided that some time away from it all, in a place of peace and rest, could be useful.

So here I am now, in an abbey. It’s not something I ever thought I would do, especially as I’m not particularly religious. But many people do it, just to get away from the world for some time, just to find that quiet place amongst all the chaos that is daily life.

When I got here I was unsure. Where do I begin? What am I going to do here? You have to pay to stay, for the basics, as it needs to be affordable. Yet I have never had silence in my life, have never been comfortable with it, so I am also nervous as to how I am going to cope with it.

After sitting still for twenty minutes, whilst pondering all of this, the bell rang to signal five minutes before vespers. I sat and listened to it for a while before deciding that I would get up and go to the church. It felt quite awkward, in a way, what with not being religious, yet at the same time there was still something there that felt otherworldly. I have never seen the like in my life. Such power in the words, the way they sing them with meaning, the sounds mingling and echoing eerily throughout the church. For the first time in a long time, I felt small and humble. Yet also strangely out of place.

At the evening meal, afterwards, I still felt out of place. Luckily I’d picked out some relatively neutral t-shirts, deciding to leave all the heavy metal ones at home. Yet I still have tattoos that show on occasion. I needn’t have worried; no one noticed. Yet I still felt a stranger in a world that belonged to others, not me.

There are some regulars here, people who know the father who is looking after the guests today. It gives me even more of a feeling of being out of place. Yet they are welcoming, non-judging, peaceful people.

As I sit here this evening, it being not long after 7pm, I’m not sure where tomorrow is going to take me. I know I should avoid the internet and social media as much as possible, because that is partly what I need to get away from. Yet, finding something else to do is not that easy. Tomorrow I plan to take a long walk, the start of a long journey into finding myself again once more. It will be like a physical metaphor, “a journey starts with a single step”. Yet tonight, I am alone in the world and my insides are struggling to find a peace with itself. My brain and stomach and heart are all fighting to take first place in the decision making, but they just come clashing together. Maybe that first step actually truly starts this evening, in starting to learn to find and make peace with myself.

Tomorrow morning I have been invited to their morning prayers, as they saw me tonight, which are an hour long instead of just half hour in the evening. The main problem is getting up to be there at 6:45, as I’m not usually a morning person. Yet the rhythm will no doubt do me good.

Tonight is still long, though. I sit here alone, with just my thoughts, and the silence echoes around them.