“In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God”. –
From the play Agamemnon by Aeschylus, 458 BC.
The two types of pain, one being physical, the other from the heart. Although the physical pain becomes overwhelming at times, beyond my capabilities to endure, it pales in comparison to the mental anguish we all may have to bear.
Broken heart. I don’t know when mankind started associating our souls and life with the heart, although it does seem to be accurate. Broken heart, heartache, makes no difference, but everyone understands that pain. Heartfelt, real honest. A pain so deep you swear it will kill you at times.
This morning I woke up thinking that nothing could be worse than being a lonely old man. I miss my people, my family. I relive the past in my sleep and fight through dreams that turn to nightmares. Last night was no different. In each dream I end up alone and lost in a maze of unknown people and unknown places. Those people suffocate me somehow, but it’s being lost that always startles me awake.
So where is this knowledge and wisdom and comfort to be bestowed upon me with this suffering? Right now this wisdom remains hidden, tucked away in a part of my heart and soul I have yet to access. Will suffering open those doors? I seriously have my doubts.
In my stories posted here I tell of the troubles I have faced in living, many painful in their own right, tragic. Is there anything to gain by this, or am I so inwardly focused living on memories that I can’t look up to see the sunrise? There comes a time when memories and dreams can comfort you, but there’s a time to let go and move on.
Last night I dreamt of visiting my aunt and uncle, their old home where I spent many a day or a week, my aunt like a second mother to me. Everything is as I remember, but different somehow. I was greeted at the door by my aunt, invited in to stay, live in this place of comfort for as long as I liked.
Growing up I used to spend time visiting my cousin in Overland Park, a nice neighborhood in Kansas City, on the Kansas side. My cousin was a year younger, but we grew up together, and were thick as thieves as they say.
If you’ve read about the rape, and the first time I came out to my parents sitting at my aunts’ kitchen table. Her “aha” moment, when all my issues in growing up became crystal clear. “Why didn’t we see it?” I can hear her voice clearly to this day, some 30 years later.
Why didn’t they see it? I wished they had when I was a young boy. All the signs and clues and symptoms were there, classic PTSD. But they never put two and two together. If only they understood, and helped me at an early age. Where was everyone’s mind when they just accepted my behavior without ever asking why. Why didn’t I ever go into a public restroom? Why did I wake up from the nightmare or wet the bed from the bad dreams?
I suppose I wanted to see her, my aunt that is, after all these years, and did so in my dreams last night. I needed her comfort, love and acceptance. She was and will always be one of the most cherished people in my life.
Last night I dreamed of her and going to visit as a young boy. The dream began with me standing outside their house, a bright sunny day. As I entered the front door, their home kept changing as things do in dreams. At every turn the house was growing larger with each room I entered. Hallways grew wider and longer, rooms grew more splendid, each more extravagant than before.
I ventured through this house of memories and lost my way, lost connection with my aunt, and suddenly felt alone in my wandering. Where did she go? She was standing beside me a second ago, now vanished.
She was replaced by strangers, as crowds grew everywhere around me. The house had turned into a meeting place, a hotel lobby with guests and staff, all too busy to notice me. It could be any convention center from my past life as a businessman, the last thing I wanted to be. I hate rooms full of people, and fear them in my introversion. The last place I wanted to be, trying to maintain a facade that was crumbling.
I needed to find the small home I remembered. My anxiety rose until I began to panic. There wasn’t one familiar face around me, and I needed to get out of here. I finally stopped a young woman, one of the staff judging from her attire, and asked if she could help me find my way. Put me back to where I was only a moment ago. Where was my aunt?
She looked at me and stated, “Oh, you mean the rich woman”. I knew she wasn’t referring to physical wealth, but to the wisdom and strength my aunt had gained from life and death. Does dying bring clarity, vision? I wonder. A richness all to itself. Wisdom. We’ll have to wait to see.
Yet the young woman moved quickly past,at a pace that left me further and further behind. She wanted nothing to do with me I thought. I last saw her when she turned a corner at the end of a large hallway. I had asked for help but received none.
I was horribly lost, and woke from a deep sleep with a racing heart. Fear caused by the events of the dream.I was bone tired from the restless night, waking up depressed to start the day. I can remember the details of the dream, and try to gather the real memories of my aunt for comfort, to replace the sadness embracing me.
Simply a dream that turned bad.
I sent a note to my uncle this morning, alone now for decades since my aunt died at a young age from cancer. Nothing to say to him really, just that I had a pleasant dream from years ago, back in their old home. Told him I was doing fine, getting along as best I could. I wished him and his family well.
So when will the drops of pain stop falling on my heart? When will the despair end once and for all? Do I need to open my heart more in order to conquer this existence? If not I won’t be able to move on, may never escape the pain of depression, and the regrets of what might have been.
That is my new objective, my new mantra. Open my heart to envelop this pain and rise above it.
This day will be a struggle, I do what I can to make it through.