There are moments when I feel smart, competent, grateful and engaged. I am, as anyone who reads this blog might suspect, always thinking.
It is when I try to gear up to take action that things tend to go pear shaped. I get a bit of what I need to get done, but pretty soon I flutter to a stop, depleted and lost.
I strive to fill my heart with power, but holding onto that energy just seems impossible. I have a heart leak, any power and momentum I build up lost in the attempt to pump, like it squirts out through a crack or a faulty gasket.
The oh so solitary facts of my life has caused the pump to run dry too many times, leaving it fractured and eroded. Priming the pump, getting it restarted is always up to me, but my own agency has been stolen by those around me. I live not only at the mercy of my disrepair but also at the expense of their own brokenness, their own inability to be present for me in a way that I have been present for them, deeply damaged by their own failures to carry out their commitments.
The pressure builds, but as soon as I try to engage it to do work, the energy bleeds off just as I bleed off from long-term wounds. I collapse, punctured in the heart, falling into a pool of my own sadness.
That hissing puncture isn’t new to me, but it has gotten louder and more destructive over the years as the blowouts spread and the energy declined. Choices must be made as you face loss, and when the choices are added to a leaky pump, motion becomes stilled. There is no one to fight for anymore, no one to fight with.
I am “so out there,” as I have been told, and out here, we learn to putter along on what we have, as leaky as we are. Being beyond desire is massively freeing, but it is also dauntingly removed, removing the drive to stuff the leaky holes with desperate needs. I end up simmering down, more observer than participant, more theologian than evangelist.
Every humans has needs, has to play their part in the system to receive them. My leaky heart makes that very difficult as I cannot muster the wherewithal to engage those requirements. They slip out of my fingers and my status gets worse, sliding away in a plume of vented possibility.
Getting back onto the grid, feeling like I can take chances without risking the limited energy available to me, being able to carry through with projects rather than being depleted quickly seems to be an important requirement for keeping a social, connected and human life on track.
My heart is leaky, though, losing force in a wash of exhaustion, disconnection and fear. Fractured, I seem to be, with so little left that forward pressure just doesn’t hold.
Callan 