Author: ro
Every separation is a wound.
I wrote it this morning in my journal. I had been inspired to write about my teaching. I started drafting something on my way to a school; helped by the rocking of the subway train, as I have done many times. I wrote a paragraph, if that. And then suddenly, there it was.
Every separation is a wound.
I leave it there, to hang in the balance of here and there. Of floating in my head, and of wanting to analyze, scrutinize, tear it apart from its core to find its meaning. I jokingly tell my friends, my very closest, the ones I can count on one hand, that I suffer from separation anxiety.
That’s not entirely true. I suffer from separation. Period. Some of you may know, that one of my favorite lessons from Buddhism is the lesson on impermanence. It is my favorite, because I believe we are constantly confronted with it. It is also my favorite because it is the hardest for me to accept. It is the constant reminder that nothing last forever, nothing is permanent, set in stone. I believe it. Cognitively, I understand it, but my sentiments have a tougher time with it.
Ever since I can remember, I have tried to hold on to things, to people, but the circumstances of life (impermanence) have pulled them away from me. In some cases some have returned to me, others have not. When I was much younger, and through my high school years and most of my college years, I held on (hold on!) to the pain of separation. The separation I felt from my country of birth, the separation I felt from my parents. I held on to the belief that I had been ripped, torn away from the comfort of a life, a life, mind you, that I had barely begun; a life that was not entirely mine yet. I blamed my parents (don’t we all?) for taking me away, plunging me into a situation that I did not feel mine, that I hadn’t asked for, that I didn’t want.
Every separation is a wound.
I held on to this pain, for so long. I held on to it so much and yet, didn’t do anything about it. It didn’t spur me to change my situation. It kept me there, stuck. In this “stuckness,” I lived. I went to school, a high school where the mobility of the students was constant. Most of us came from Italy, so we all lived in a state of transience. Sort of like limbo. We were here, we were there. And yes, most peoples’ experience of high school is like this, but we had an ocean to cross. We had friends or families or both over there. We had the same over here. And so, for as long as I can remember, most of my friends, were people who would come into my life and then disappear. I know this is not a unique experience. The opposite, is probably the least likely-to grow up in one place, have one set of friends forever. But…
…every separation is a wound.
I am slowly coming to terms with this. One tool that has helped is to actually, let go. Simpler said than done. The less I try to hold on, the more I can enjoy the friends that I have. The less that I concentrate on the pain of those that have left, the more space I have in my heart. Life is hard enough as it is, the more we try, the more I try to recapture what was, to hold on to something or someone, the more chances I have of stifling it/them/me. Holding on doesn’t allow growth; hold on traps us in a corner.
Yes, I have lived every separation like a wound, but those wounds are healing, and who knows, maybe soon I’ll sprout wings to fly.
I read this, and think you are already there, flying. x
Romana, if you only could grasp how profound and powerful this post is. Thank you.
Beautifully written. I suffer from this too, albeit in a silent and stubborn way: I hoard all my love and hopes close to me, because when they do leave (as they always do), they don’t know how weakened you are by the departure.
And wow, writing that makes it sound wholly fucked up.
I think it’s beautiful that you can share your desire for permanence with people, because ultimately it leaves you very vulnerable. Letting people know that they are needed (cherished) and they can hurt you when they leave lays all the cards out there for the world to see. I applaud your honesty and openness. Thanks for getting my brain thinking about this.
Serene´s last blog ..Present
Paola, Ludie, Serene: I am overwhelmed by your responses at the moment. Perhaps too raw, still from “exposure.” So for now, I would like to share lyrics from a Jimi Hendrix song. It was sort of softly playing in my head while I was writing. Rest assured, I will answer your comments, but still have to put thoughts and feelings together.
Well she’s walking through the clouds
With a circus mind that’s running round
Butterflies and zebras
And moonbeams and fairy tales
That’s all she ever thinks about
Riding with the wind.
When I’m sad, she comes to me
With a thousand smiles, she gives to me free
It’s alright she says it’s alright
Take anything you want from me,
Anything.
Fly on little wing,
Yeah yeah, yeah, little wing
Serene: why do you think what you wrote sounds “wholly fucked up”? I don’t think so…I think what we feel, how we feel is utterly human. And I think that there are more people around us who feel this way than they care to admit.
I guess it feels wrong because one shouldn’t censor such honest and warm emotions towards one person out of fear for being hurt. But that’s the nasty thing about life – it happens, it hurts, and we learn to hold tighter to the things we think we can control (our own emotions being one of them). I think it leaves a wall between me and my loved ones, without them even knowing it. I don’t know….Life is so weird and complicated sometimes.
Serene´s last blog ..Present