Reblogged from Pantsless in Seattle:

I’ve written before about my New Year’s tradition — I buy a can of black-eyed peas, spend the entire day gathering the strength to open the can, until I finally stand at the sink, gagging and choking while I force down as many spoonfuls of the evil pea as possible. Bleh. Grandmama always said it doesn’t matter how many peas you eat; your luck for the new year is guaranteed if you even eat just one. I never trusted her, though, and would force myself to eat as many as possible. I’m nearly 31 and nothing …

“Make it happen”. The thoughts in this post are very moving and very much food for thought, particularly for me as one thing I found in leaving my old work last year is a sense of how much I’ve put off and delayed in life.

This post reminds me that I still have work to do myself in making things happen.

I got a chance to feel some of what it’s like to be in that state during the recent snow and ice storm here. I won’t bore with details save to say that due to weather and downed trees, I was home alone with no power, no water and extremely limited communications for a number of days. But where I was was hit much harder than other areas so for other people I’m close to, life continued on more normally.

It was a strange feeling to be cut off like that with glimpses of the world continuing on without me. It felt in a way like being in that state between death and rebirth, where you’re gone from the world but you can see life continuing without you.

The odd thing is, I don’t really know what I make of it all, if anything. Certainly it feels like another experience that shapes me in my continuing, deepening understanding and thoughts around death (like I talked about in Dream a big dream: Time to die). And certainly that is the most cut off and isolated I’ve felt in a very long time (see Thoughts from a cold, barren house for an example of that). But I don’t find any big revelations coming from this, at least not yet. And when I originally wrote this post and went into more detail about the experience, I found I didn’t like the tone of the post: it felt too negative and complaining almost.

I think one thing I’m seeing of late is a willingness to do posts that have no answers. That instead just identify questions that are still being processed. I guess this is one of them.

So I’m looking through my posts from January 2007 and it’s an interesting read. I was going through some changes in my personal life and at work and going through one of my retrenchment phases where I purge people and pull back (kind of like what I’m coming out of once again now). But perhaps most interestingly, I see that I took a quiz that showed my type as an ENFP for the first time which I titled “Hmm….changing types?“. Very interesting how that was presaging some more discovery and learning that I would go through these past three years.

Most interestingly, though, the fact that the quiz in question is about love styles means that I answered the questions as I was ultimately told to answer MBTI questions: answer as yourself at home, not as you are at work.

It reinforces my belief that my testing in the past as an ISTJ, the exact opposite type in fact, reflected the outer persona I developed to protect myself and to cope with school and later work.

Interesting bit of personal archaeology.

What’s most interesting is I’ve been using the word “crucible” to describe this period of massive, wholesale transformation these past three or so years. And I’ve been doing these word meditation postings. But, I’ve never done a word meditation posting on the term crucible. I realized this when I was talking with Aurora a few weeks ago and she was asking me about the term.

What’s perhaps most inexcusable about this is the fact that I have training as a technical writer and I know that you should always define your terms on first use. To be fair, I did make an allusion to what a crucible is in the first post to mention it, “Who are you? What do you want?“. And in that post, I did link to the wikipedia page for crucible.

So as I do a proper word meditation posting, let’s use that as our starting point. A crucible is an object that can withstand high temperatures and is used in making metal and glass in particular.

A crucible is noteworthy for the fact that it’s able to hold and withstand the necessary destructive forces that operate within it to ultimately create something new. A crucible is thus a place where truly creative destruction occurs. And the forces within it are forces that typically can’t otherwise be controlled or contained. For instance, the temperatures involved in a crucible for making steel are thousands of degrees Fahrenheit. This is important because crucibles are used to create things that otherwise wouldn’t exist by combining elements together that don’t naturally combine. The incredible forces of destruction contained within are necessary to break down the components sufficiently so that they can become something wholly new.

This is part of the idea behind Arthur Miller’s use of the term as the title of his play about Salem Witch Trials.

This is why I picked this term, because I felt that this period of my life has taken elements of my old life and melted them down, combining them to create something wholly new. Ultimately this is a good and wonderful thing. But the process is violent, messy and, yes, destructive.

Beyond this, though, there’s other reasons for my choosing this term. One more grounded in my history.

You have to understand, as a boy, I grew up in steel and coal country. When I was a kid, the biggest employer was the local steel mill. Everyone worked there. This was before the bottom fell out from the US steel market in the 1980′s recession. I grew up in what is now known as the Rust Belt. But back then it wasn’t rusting, it was making steel.

Interestingly, the nickname for the city that the steel mill was in was “crucible”. So for me, growing up, that’s a term I heard often and in the context of classic blue collar life. Indeed, if you want to understand what it was for me growing up listen to Bruce Springsteen’s Youngstown (one hour or so from where I grew up):

as well as his song The River which describes the lives of so many people around me growing up and the life I managed to escape:

Interestingly, it was leaving that world that taught me the first painful lesson about how growth sometimes requires loss. My mother and I did succeed in getting out of the Rust Belt, and none too soon. A few months after we left, the steel mill had it’s first massive layoff, the start of a cycle that continues to this day. Last time I checked, the town I grew up in has lost about 1/2 it’s population since I was there. I knew I didn’t belong there and wanted to get out. So did my mother. But getting out came at a price for me: I couldn’t bring my dog with us because the apartment wouldn’t allow dogs. My mother found her a good home with a friend on a farm. So, she was happier I believe than she would’ve been cooped up in an apartment. But when you’re 12 and your dog is your best friend and companion it’s a steep price to pay. To this day, I keep a toy of hers with me. I think about her often. And yes, in a way, I regret that I had to lose her like that. In a way, that was my first crucible.

Our word for today is τέλοϛ (telos). Telos means “end” and it forms the foundation of the philosophical idea of teleology.

“End” in English has a much simpler, and less rich meaning than telos does. This makes it hard to really get a sense of what telos is as an idea. At it’s simplest, telos is the idea that the end of something gives that thing its full purpose. And, it’s important to understand, that the telos has an influence: in Greek philosophy, the telos is one of the four causes that govern change.

This way of looking at ends is very different than we’re used to. In fact, it’s completely antithetical to our modern scientific view of cause and effect, because it runs counter to the flow of time. This is one reason why the idea of telos has been lost. And, in fact, poor thinking around causation is sometimes dismissed for being teleological.

Why is this idea of telos important? Because it gives an idea of directionality and purpose as we move through life. We humans, being story telling creatures, function best when we understand our life as a story. This is reflected in the oft-asked (to the point of cliche) question of “What’s the meaning of life”?

The psychologist James Hillman argued eloquently for the psychological need for telos in his book The Soul’s Code. In it he makes a powerful argument that this idea of telos gives people the focus and meaning that they need and helps them to better navigate life. Even if teleology may not be “true” in the scientific sense, he shows that it has utility and can fulfill a real purpose. To try and make clear what this really means, for me, when I read Hillman’s book, I realized that the teleological reason why my mother died and I found out that my father had died was because to be who I am now, I had to be made an orphan at 33. I know that need to be an orphan at 33 didn’t reach back in time and cause my mother to die of lung cancer and my father of suicide. But that framing of the events makes it easier for me to heal, cope, and make sense of it all.

One day, I was telling Aurora about how I was watching the end of Kundun.

She remarked how I seem to like to watch the endings of movies. It’s an accurate obervation: I do. She didn’t ask explicitly why that is, but the observation set me to thinking on that question.

What I’ve figured out is that I like is not necessarily the endings of the films per se. Rather I like to see the telos. Especially teloi (Greek plural) that show people rising to heights that demonstrate the best things humans are capable of.

Whether it’s the flight of the Dalai Lama to India

the self-sacrifice of Batman to save Gotham City in The Dark Knight

a father’s sacrifice to save his son in Tron: Legacy

or the desperate charge of the Rohirrim before the gates of Minas Tirith into certain death to save the city in Return of the King

what moves me, gives me this curious expansive, tingly feeling is that sense that I’m witnessing a true, ennobling telos.

As I write this, I realize that part of what I’ve been going through with the Crucible has been a loss of my old sense of my telos. The telos that I thought I was moving towards is gone; it turns out my sense of what I thought it was was wrong. And that part of what I’m doing in posts like this and yesterday’s post Dream a big dream: Time to die is figure out what my true telos is. Granted, one doesn’t truly know until they reach their telos. But one can have a stronger or weaker sense of it. And humans fare better when they have a stronger sense of their telos, it gives them purpose. You can see how a strong sense of telos gives purpose in this scene from Babylon 5, when Jeffrey Sinclair reassures Delenn and explains how he is now like an arrow, sure of his purpose.

I don’t have that certitude yet myself. But every day is a step closer.  In a way, that simple observation that Aurora made has prompted this post, and that has brought more clarity and me another step closer. In a way, inspiring this post that leads me further down my path shows a way she truly is a beautiful Muse. Thank you for that.

That last certainly underscores one thing I know about my purpose: it isn’t one that is found or done in isolation. When I thought about paths when I was younger, I was afraid that some paths, like Buddhism, would require me to be alone and that kept me from exploring those paths. I’ve lost the fear of exploring those paths now, but I do have the clear understanding of myself that a solitary path isn’t mine and so can’t and won’t follow those paths down that road. And perhaps, that need to be with others forms a part of my path grounded in sacred sexuality since that is a path focused not just on one’s self.

Like I say: we shall see.

In the meantime, if you want a bonus clip of another moving telos for me, check out the actions of Captain Hiroshi of the EAS Churchill(love the name!) in the Babylon episode Severed Dreams.

The dream is set in the future. I am older, much older. My wife, our dog and I are all living on a space station. It’s quite large. Large enough to have a town, farms, animals. It reminds me of when I lived in Alameda. The town is smallish in feel like Alameda. The farms remind me of places in Marin and the East Bay. It also has simulated daylight and nighttime. The effect is that it feels very much like earth, but smaller, self-contained.

In the dream, I have cancer. It’s fairly advanced and it’s the day that I’ve decided to take my life. I know that I’m on the cusp of a rule I have regarding terminal and/or debilitating diseases or conditions: if you don’t think you’d be able to take your own life tomorrow, today’s the day for you to do it. Otherwise, you’ll fall into the trap of wasting away and being unable to do anything about it. I’ve always said that I don’t want to waste away and linger, but after watching what my mother went through, I became even more adamant about that. That’s why I have a living will for instance.

It’s mid-afternoon and my wife and I are driving around. I know it’s my last few hours and I’m taking in the sights and experiences. I’m actively living my last few hours. We stop at a farm and I walk around. The farm has these small animals that grow out of the ground that are food on the station. They’re small and brown and come up out of the ground fast and scatter and swarm around your feet. I have to watch my step so I don’t step on them. I also feel that they’re kind of weird and creepy.

Then we’re driving in the town. We go around a curve and I see an auto dealership on our left. The road curves around it and as you round the curve you see an attached repair garage. The building on both sides has a logo that’s an image of the owner. I think to myself how they’re going to have to change all their branding when the owner dies.

Then we’re in an office. A guy I work with right now is there at a desk and he and I and my wife are talking. He and I work together in the dream. He’s saying how it’s a good thing I’m dying today because Eisenhower, who runs the company, doesn’t have much use for sick people. I had been watching Ken Burns’ The War last night, which is about World War II, and it talked a lot about General Eisenhower and his overall command of Western Europe last night. While what the guy I work with sounds horrible by day, it didn’t in the dream, it was just a very matter of fact thing.

After that, my wife and I are still in the same office, but he’s gone and a faceless/nameless female friend of my wife is in the room somewhere. I have a vague sense that she’s my wife’s girlfriend. This person and I don’t have much connection but she and my wife do and I know that she’s there to help my wife. The hour has come and it’s time. Throughout all this, I never see my dog, but I know he’s there on the station with us. I know too that he’s old and dying and that after I’m done, my wife will be going to help him pass. I know this is a very hard day for her, but I know too that she’s incredibly strong and as OK as she can be. I have a sense that this person with her helps. That when I and our dog are gone she will be OK and won’t be alone or lonely.

When we had to send our other dog on her way this fall, when I first saw her that last time, she looked OK and I had trouble believing we had to do this. I also was blindsided by what was happening and not ready. I started to cry and said to my wife “I don’t think I’m ready for this, maybe we don’t have to do this yet”. She explained again why the vet thought it was time and I could tell our dog was having trouble breathing. After a minute or two I agreed it was time. In the dream, when my wife and I realized the hour had arrived, I had a similar wavering. I felt sadness that I was done with this life, that I had no more chances to do anything else. I said something to the effect of not being ready.

In reality, I drink a lot of Vitaminwater Zero XXX (it’s one of the red ones). In the dream, I had one in my right hand. As we’re talking, I took a drink from it. It tasted very bitter, almost toxic. I looked at the bottle and I saw a large pill or tablet floating in the bottle at the top, dissolving. I recognize it as the pill I was going to take to end my life. I look at my wife and realize that she knew I might have trouble doing what I wanted, that I might waver at the end and so she put the pill in my drink to help me. I have said that there are times in which the greatest act of love one can make is to let go and help one you love pass. It’s what I feel every time I send our kids to the other side: the crushing grief is mixed in with the fact that I’m doing what I have to, what I don’t want to, because I love them. My wife and I have similar feelings about not wanting to whither and we have both said that if we had to, we would help the other that way. As I look at my wife in the dream, I realize that she’s done just that and am filled with a sense of that overwhelming love that makes one do what she did.

I move to hug her and give her a kiss. As I’m holding her, she’s nearly bald and thin, I feel the back of her head where it joins with the neck. Perhaps she was sick herself in the dream? I tell her that I love her and thank her. I’m feeling deep love towards her and gratitude that she loves me enough to do this very difficult thing. This thing that so many people wouldn’t understand and that many would think is wrong.

My vision starts to blacken suddenly. I feel like I’m starting to swoon. I pull away and stand on my own. I remark “wow, that stuff works fast”. When I’ve sent our kids to the other side, one thing that has struck me is how quickly they fall asleep and then pass away. It’s faster and more peaceful than I thought it would be before I ever saw it. In the dream I know that’s the case with what I’ve taken. I’m dying and will be dead in a minute. My awareness of the world is withdrawing, closing in on itself.

Then I woke up. It was morning here in the Forest. Very foggy, giving the day world a dream-like feel to it.

That’s the most realistic death dream I’ve ever had. It’s the closest I’ve felt myself come to the moment of death in a dream (or reality even). The dream and the fog have left me feeling disoriented, trying to figure out not so much what the dream means but rather what I think and feel from it.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on death lately. With all the death and loss that I’ve gone through these past three years or so, this period I call the Crucible, I can’t help but have more focus on those issues. And too, with so much loss around things that formed my identity in the past, I’m having to look at questions of who I am and what am I doing, what do I want to do.

As I have been writing on this dream and thinking about it, it feels like some more pieces are coming into place. Like Dante, I feel like I’m in a dark wood and searching for the path. And like Dante, it’s a long way out of that dark wood and is taking me to places previously unimaginable. And it seems, like Dante, the path leads to metaphysical places and questions about life, love and death.

Certainly working with death and loss seems like a part of my path right now. In the past three years or so I’ve been doing a lot of reading on and listening to talks about Buddhism, particularly Zen and Tibetan Buddhism. Dealing with loss and suffering is such a core part of Buddhism that I felt there was a lot I could learn from it. In Buddhism death isn’t a negative, a thing to be fought. It’s a natural part of life and like all things in life can be made better or worse. I find the Tibetan idea of the Bardos very informative too: that just as sleep follows waking follows sleep, so death follows life follows death. So for the past three years or so, I’ve been exploring and learning about that. I’ve learned about people who work to help facilitate passages, “death doulas“. And when I read about them, I wonder if perhaps the reason for this life for me has something to do with death. That maybe I have so much loss in this life because I’m supposed to use my experiences to do something helpful?

Certainly a sense that I’ve been called to do something around death isn’t new in my life.  A long time ago, my sophomore year of college, I had a chance to try acid for the first time. At the height of the experience while Metallica’s To Live is to Die was playing, I had a vision of being taken into the underworld and bargaining with the god of death. It was an amazing vision where I sat at a table across from him under the vault of a sky that looked like a medieval illuminated manuscript. As the Cocteau Twins’ Blue Bell Knoll came on, I felt the music hit me like refreshing cool water, bringing me back up to the surface from the underworld. I stood up and felt like I had returned from a journey and been transformed, like Siegfried after bathing in the dragon’s blood. I had this sense of being marked by the experience.

And so even when I was young, I had this sense of death being something different for me. Something that I was called to be closer to than other people. And, given the amount of suicide in my life, and the fact that my father died by suicide at age 47 (I would find out nearly seven years later that both that he was dead and how he died), there’s been this additional feeling of being marked and called, almost like it’s the family business.

On a side note too, the psychologist James Hillman writes about the psychological and mythological ties between dreams and the underworld. Given how powerful dreams are for me, that feels like another tie between me and the underworld.

But when I think about this dream and the focus on Buddhism, death and loss that started three years ago, I think too about the fact that when I started that focus three years ago, I had a focus at the time on sacred sexuality. I think too about how that focus on sacred sexuality was eclipsed as the focus on Buddhism, death and loss increased. Part of the reason for that was this idea that the two were somehow exclusive of one another. Another part of it was simply adding a huge new thing to the mix. I described it a couple of years ago to a friend who asked me about the lack of focus on sacred sexuality as a big stick butter added to the mix. It was going to take some time for it to break up and mix in.

As I lost that focus, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Had I changed? Three years ago I had been doing work with Inanna, Lilith, and Ereshkigal. And while there is an underworld connection with Ereshkigal, it’s different than in Buddhism. I had a couple of experiences working with Lilith that were very powerful and felt like I had not only been called to that work, that I had been claimed for it. What did this focus on Buddhism, death and loss mean for that? All I could come up with was that it was in my past and was joining other interests that are now in the closet.

But in the past couple of months, it feels like this topic and question is coming back to me, and back in a way that is telling me that these two callings aren’t inherently exclusive of one another.

The first instance of this insight came a couple of months ago, while watching an episode of Farscape I saw how the character Zhaan, who is a priestess, was using physical contact and affection as an expression of compassion and healing, I realized that there is a point of joining with healing in sacred sexuality and compassion in Buddhism. Maybe the term “sacred sexuality” does a bit of a disservice by focusing attention on “sex” such that we fail to notice that it’s really about expressing the divine through the body?

Just this week this idea that the two callings aren’t inherently exclusive was made again, more clearly, in a newsletter that I get from Deborah Taj Anapol. She’s the author of Polyamory: The New Love Without Limits which was the first book we read that really helped my wife and understand how to try and make an open relationship work. She also does work around sacred sexuality and in her newsletter this week she wrote about how she feels drawn to work around “conscious dying” and wondering how many people called to sacred sexuality work feel called to that as well.

This is a long post to write and to read. So, if you’ve made it this far dear reader, thank you for staying with me on this path.

I don’t have firm answers but perhaps I have a bit more of a clue on where I should be doing work: around life, love and death. Perhaps in my way I’ve been called, while I live, to serve both love and death. Perhaps the claims of Lilith and the god of death, in their way support each other. I still am figuring out what I do with my warrior side, what I do with my creative side. But maybe I’ve got a bit more direction after this. Nothing makes you think about life as much as death, that’s for sure.

As always, I guess, it remains to be seen what comes next. What I do know is that I have a better feeling today for what it will be to die. I feel a bit more ready for it. The Tibetans encourage practice for dying in your dreams. It would seem I took one of those lessons to heart.

A closing postscript to this post: while writing this, I learned from the Wikipedia article that James Hillman died this past October. He was an influential figure for me in college and part of my recovered interests these past three years. I am sorry he has passed, though he had a good life. And it is interesting that I should learn of this when writing about my own death dream.

If you’ve followed me in my various presences, you know that I go through ebbs and flows. One thing about social media that I’ve learned (here and in my day job) is it’s never “set”, it’s never “done”. When I was younger, that drove me nuts and was a reason why I didn’t jump in: I didn’t want to waste time on something that might be gone.

But I’ve learned it’s not wasted time, it’s just fluid.

And so, dear reader, I’ve learned to play with things as I want to, learn them, master them, and in some cases move beyond them.

And this post is about some of the pruning I’m doing. Some of it you may have already seen in other places. But, increasingly, I am making this blog the central point of my online presences. So, taking some time to outline where I am these days here is helpful for me and maybe for others.

Blog: Like I say, this is my central hub. I’m a firm believer in there being one place you can go to to orient and this is it for me. What the blog is, that has changed over time and is changing as I am. It’s a place for prose reflections and observations about things and my life. It is primarily confessional if you will: my Exquisite Treasure used to blog in a very confessional manner in a way that always impressed me, and so that has inspired me (and is one reason why I started this so long ago). Beyond me and my and my life you’ll find topics that are important and close to me (spirituality, sexuality, relationships, psychology). And yes, the occasional bit of fun.

Tumblr: I’m still playing with this one, I admit. And I’d let this slip for a while over the summer with everything going on. I’m still going to keep this going. Where my blog is my prose space, Tumblr feels more like an artistic/creative space for me. And as I contemplate writing poetry again, I may use that as the place I do it. This is integrated with my blog, so you can see Tumblr posts there.

Facebook: Increasingly, after the blog, I would say this is my primary social network. It’s one place, it’s easy to connect with people, and it gives me much of what I want/need. Yeah, the check-ins are copying Foursquare and the questions Formspring, but it’s easier to deal with that all in one place. Facebook also integrates well with my blog and Tumblr, so it’s an easy way for you to keep up with me. Historically, I’ve kept my FB page locked away unless you’re already my friend, but I am opening that up so you can find me. So if you’re not my friend and want to be my friend, go ahead and add me and we’ll talk.

Twitter: I admit it, I’ve been on Twitter since 2007 and I’ve reached a point where I’m kind of tired of it. It’s just too hard to keep up, the 140 character limit is increasingly an annoyance and, well, it’s just not fun any more. So, it doesn’t make sense to follow me there much these days.

FetLife: FetLife these days is a great disappointment to me. The behavior of people on that forum in particular is one of the things behind my disillusionment with the kink/sex-positive community that I outlined in my post The Disheartening Standards of a Community. I maintain a bare bones profile there, but mainly use it to comment on friends pictures from time to time. If you’re on FetLife, I’m potentially open to adding you, but I am keeping my friends list there short since I’m not really there.

Formspring and Foursquare: In a nutshell, I came, I saw, I played, I left. I’ve closed these down. I can get what I want out of them from Facebook these days.

Google+: Not playing that game. Their stupid policy on “use your real name” precludes me from using that network. So, please don’t add me there until such time as they get their head out of their ass on that one.

So that’s where I am online. I hope you’ll continue to follow me and join me as I keep working to figure out this thing called my life.

Say what you will about it, but I have come to believe on some level in the old Celtic myth that around Samhain and Beltane the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead grow thinner. And as a result, that world affects my dreams more and more.

Overnight, for instance, I had a long dream about being a steampunk demon hunter. I woke slightly several times but returned to the dream each time.

I can’t say I remember much about it, save at the very end I was trying to locate a flight.

Dreams have always fascinated me, and I’ve always had charged, symbolic dreams. I have a handful of dreams from over the years that still stay with me, that have a certain power quality to them that I know means something, though I never really seem to figure out just what it is they’re telling me.

Certainly I see those who have passed in my dreams, maybe more than most people? But then, too, I’ve lost more than most people that way too.

What I do know is that when I have dreams like this, it creates this odd, dissociative feeling. It leaves me feeling partially stuck in the other world, like I’m here but not wholly here.

Life (and death) are strange things sometimes.

Be that as it may, this afternoon I took my dog out on a short walk here in the Forest. I kept it short because he hurt his leg a few weeks ago and is still stiff. But it was long enough to exercise him, give him a bit of doggie physical therapy, and get me out and about.

As is so often the case, there’s no one here on the trails. Just the light rain, the grey sky, the black of the wet, gravel road. And the green. For in the Forest here, there is always green everywhere. Even now, as the leaves are changing the predominant color remains green.

No electronics, no beeping, no sirens, no annoying conversations. Just rain and green. And a boy and his dog.

It’s the number of this post on this blog (counting the resurrected LiveJournal posts).

Since my last posting Whatever Happened to Julian Arancia, the construction has FINALLY finished, our furniture has returned, and we began the process of purging, sorting, and building up the new house that will form our new life. And too, since then, I have gotten my first client, a gig that is truly perfect for what I need right now, especially as it lets me work at home.

And so I had visions of making the 200th post a reflection on how things are starting to grow and build up finally. That the destructive changes and losses were done. That in a way, the fires of the Crucible were cooling.

I had planned on this post being positive and hopeful.

But I didn’t get to it. The business of the new work starting, and some much anticipated and needed travel with my wife got in the way.

And then last week, the fires were stoked once again and this time, into it went our youngest dog. Unexpectedly, suddenly. While on our trip we got word from the kennel that she was sick. We came home that day (it was the day we were scheduled to come home) and I took her to the vet. They thought it might be the flu and wanted to keep her overnight. And then, at 6:30 the following morning the vet called to say they’d done an x-ray and found a large tumor in her chest. And based on her blood work, she likely had tumors in her liver too. The chest tumor was not easily operable, and combined with the liver tumors, there wasn’t much hope of doing anything. And, she was in discomfort, throwing up, starting to have labored breathing. And so, that morning, we sent our dear Morgan puppy on her way.

It has been a week since we lost her. Our fourth kid in a year. None of them have been easy but this one has been devastating to me because of the suddenness and unexpectedness (she was in great health that we could tell). And too because, as a Lab, she was high energy and so the absence of that energy is palpable, especially for me since I spend so much time at home.

I can’t write the post I intended. But I feel a need to write something, lest this blog fall into dead silence. I am back in that place where simply getting out of bed is a small victory. I feel again that acute disorientation from major life changes. I was already still trying to figure out who I am now and what I am going to do. I’ve lost my need to feel like part of a community like I wrote about in late spring: my social interactions now are focused and direct more 1:1 (though it can involve more than one person). I’ve already been deep in a withdrawal phase while I come to understand what it means to be in this new, older stage of life. And now, with this latest loss, I feel like what direction I had has been lost once more. I feel disoriented. Dante wrote about being lost in a dark wood mid-way on life’s journey. I sit here today in the Forest on a rainy, cool, dark October day, and realize that I too am lost and am looking for the path.

I fear this post may be more negative to read than my life is. I have my wife, though we are much changed and more loosely coupled. I have my Exquisite Treasure and my Beautiful Muse. I have my dog and my four cats. Those friends I still have are true friends, not the casual acquaintance that is quickly forgotten (all those people were lost when I weaned myself from communities). My greatest fear in life, that I would die alone and unnoticed seems nowhere near being realized. And I am thankful for it all. I am out of that poisonous work environment and now have money coming in such that I don’t have to go back there. And so that too is good.

But, gods, the loss. Sometimes it just wells up in your chest, a true physical, wrenching feeling. And you want to scream and cry hoping that the Universe will hear you and apologize for taking so much away and give it back to you.

But it never gives back what it takes that way.

My counselor says I have experienced an unusual amount of loss for my age. That she has to look at her elderly patients to see people who have lost this much. And, interestingly, like elders, I find myself after this feeling a sense of resignation, a sense that it’s all going to be taken away soon. And so it is hard sometimes to get up in the morning and move. That’s part of being in that wood. If you are so lost you don’t know where to go it becomes hard to move at all.

No, this is not the post I intended. But I guess this is the post that was needed.

Like life, there is no neat closing or ending to this post. There is no resolution. No message. It just is, messy and dangling with lose ends. A mixture of joy and sorrow. It simply is raw and naked. Like birth. Like Life. Like Death.