birdparadise

The thrill is gone. Yesterday evening I returned from my 44 hour retreat at a Jesuit center ninety minutes south of here. Not always, but sometimes retreats turn magical as participants attend sessions, meditate, get to know one another, and relax. It happened this time, at least for me. I felt so very elated last night. Unable to sleep, I wrote the poem of the last post in the early hours of my birthday. For the first time I articulated my sense of mission, a conviction that has been growing inside me for about a year.

I am not surprised that today has been a letdown. I feel embarrassed by my enthusiasm, both internal and exhibited. I reached out with love for all, and now recognize I have no clue how normal people behave. I am emotionally immature. Not in the sense of acting out and throwing tantrums, but in the sense of not keeping a lid on it all.

The odd thing is, that has been exactly my goal. To remove the lid. I’ve wanted to feel my emotions flow freely, and now I have. The consequence, of course, is that others have seen it too. I forget that our society prohibits emotional freedom. In my strongest moments I don’t care, but this is not my strongest moment.

It is time for rest. I slept little last night, my mind was so amped up. Hypomania would be the clinical diagnosis. Now I suffer the follow-on depression. Maybe I’m bipolar. Maybe I’m passionate. Maybe I’m a mess.

It’s strange how strong feelings power my most heartfelt writing, and give me the best sense of connection with higher powers, and yet leave me with such a low opinion of myself. I won’t try to figure it out, at least not tonight. I foresee a future of writing in isolation, because the forceful connection with my heart that I use as a creative engine makes me a social misfit. Given the choice between art and society, I can only choose the former. Besides, no matter how hard I try, I will never fit in. Might as well go with the river that keeps hugging me into its depths, write for my own purpose, speak when called on, and let my words find who they will.

Rest. Rest. Rest.