Closure is not an event. It's a series of steps backwards and forwards, stumbling, slinking, striding toward wholeness. And from closure, opening is possible. Opening memory, opening compassionate and generous heart, opening possibility.
Finding closure has been a slow accumulation. As I realized
at the E11 temple burn, after I smeared snot and
blue makeup on D's tunic, I could only cry for a few moments because I'd already cried all my tears. Emotional closure.
Legal closure came by way of a divorce decree being issued in Salt Lake Third District Court on June 18. My marriage to B is legally finished. We are now divorced. And somehow, that legal closure, after all we've been through together and separately, gave me a peace I hadn't realized I was lacking. Administrative closure.
Over the fifteen months we've been separated, I've been rattled to learn how many people didn't even know we had been together, let alone married. That in and of itself may be telling. Of what, I'm not entirely sure. But we were together. We were married. On a beautiful Saturday in September 2000, twenty months after falling in love, surrounded by friends and family in our new garden, we promised to feed, clothe, grow with, comfort, and love each other.
Our relationship and our marriage were never typical, by anyone's definition, and two years after we were legally married, K joined our family. Over the next three and a half years, the joys and pains we three experienced individually, collectively, and in our respective dyads was intense. Incredible joy. Excruciating pain. Those emotional extremes inform and define the other, I believe.
I've been
purposefully vague in my online writings about the relationship and family transitions I've been experiencing over the past year. (I consciously choose to call it a transition rather than a breakup. My reasons for that choice varied.) Part of my reluctance to address it directly was because my feelings shift radically, and usually they shift into a space of more compassion and understanding. If I were to have regularly recorded my thoughts and feelings, much of it would have been based in the agony of my process toward healing. While painful spaces and the kinds of words that result from those spaces are valid and accurately reflected where I was in the moment, I had no desire to capture and share those words any more than I already did. Shamefully, I often spoke words of blame aloud to anyone who would hear me. Despite those words of blame, I felt simultaneously blessed and grateful for the lessons B and K gave me and the personal growth I experienced as a result of the family structure I chose to help construct and the
reality we three created together.
Paradoxical emotions and the clumsy communication of how I felt seemed to cause such pain in my circle of friends and in my interactions with my former partners that writing it down seemed patently unwise. But maybe writing it out would have provided some clarity. In any case, I spent the year with a cracked skull (yes, literally) and a lot of
emotional terrain to cover. It's been quite a ride, and I am profoundly grateful for all of you who have supported and loved me in spite of myself. And to those of you who never took sides or saw the transitions we were experiencing as a war or battle, even/especially when what I said or did made it seem that way, I am particularly grateful to you for that neutrality.
In the past months, I've come to see several things. Firstly, what B and K and I did was brave. We were courageous. Our friend called us "pioneers," not as though no one else had ever done what we were trying to do, but because there weren't a lot of clear paths, and we were forging our way without many guideposts or examples.
Secondly, time and space were/are necessary for me to disengage. I fought against that for a long time, and that struggling only perpetuated unhealthy cycles. My upcoming move to Oregon will likely help with that disengagement and continued healing.
Thirdly, I can see now that we all did our best with the tools we had at the time. Perhaps sometimes our best was kind of pathetic in retrospect. But still, we tried. Would I do it differently or better were I to do it again? Of course. I have more tools now than I did when I started. My compassion for B and K and the roles they played in our journey together has grown significantly. My compassion for myself has grown tremendously as well. Without that compassion for myself and my recent acknowledgment that I did the best I could, forgiving anyone was impossible.
Now I feel capable of moving forward, of continuing the opening of my heart and throat, of deepening the healing. Though they aren't regularly online these days, and may never see this post unless someone shows it to them, I still feel compelled to end by offering my most heartfelt love and gratitude to B and K. Without them, my journey of the past eight years would not be the same. Thank you both for helping me become the person I am.
Namaste.
. . . which I stole from J in LA's tribe page. His explanation:
My eyes on the road, my mind wandering and exploring and discovering, my spirit expansive -- the two weeks I just spent away from SLC in Portland, the Oregon woods, the redwood coast, Nor. California, and across the Nevada desert were healing, informative, and somewhat exhausting.
Been on the road since last Wednesday. Well, not on the road, exactly. I spent 12 hours on the road, driving all night (see picture below!), and have been staying in Portland with M. I've been in Oregon in anticipation of my pending move here, to interview and scope my employment scene, to set up housing, and I managed to get to a music festival the first weekend I was here, foregoing the Portland Pride celebrations in lieu of some burner/hippie/magic love in the woods.
This is what I look like at sunrise after a night I saw fall. Witnessing sunset and sunrise without rest is an awesome experience. I took this picture and the one above while driving along the Columbia River Gorge. My excitement builds and bubbles when driving along the river toward the sea, knowing it's taking me to my new home.
Campsite at Emrg N See, a four-day music festival at Miller Ranch, outside Salem. I met some lovely people, hung out with my new housemate-to-be, and was just thrilled to be in the woods.
And here's a shot of my new city, taken from the air tram connecting two hospitals on the west side of the river. Yes, I actually took the tram for the view. And because I knew I probably wouldn't do it after I moved.
B and his crew spent six weekends and many hours building the Emerald City tower. Complete with a chill space in the belly of the structure and a ramp to access the stage on top (where RandyCandy, aka The Wizard, performed the first E11 wedding), the big burn structure was impressive indeed. Everyone kept calling it "the effigy" but I always thought an effigy was a dummy representing a person ...
I'm obsessed. I can't get enough. I light up my firetoys at any and every conceivable opportunity. Like Friday night at J's party and Saturday night in my own backyard. Sunday night after leaving practice for the Element 11 fireshow, I stopped by Chicory's place and played some more in their driveway. Having already spun my new heavy poi for two hours in practice, I was a little off my game, but whatever. My fire addiction knows few bounds, it seems.
atoms
