Sunday, July 20, 2008
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Melusine
There have been moments in my life when I felt the mystery of god-though to call what I felt "god" makes me uneasy. Up on Big Mountain in Colorado as I watched storm clouds converge and pour down torrents of rain, I felt my soul had been cleansed of all the "bad things" that I had done to myself, to others. By a river in Costa Rica where I silently watched a swarm of giant blue morpho butterflies, I felt the terrible beauty that lies at the heart of life and death. Holding my newborn daughter's wisp of a hand as we listened to "This Mortal Coil" along the riverbank of the Seine, a flock of birds crossed overhead and I felt this moment transcended time, that it would stamp out a mark on my memory that I would recall many years later. My daughter is now 14. She has been hospitalized three times in the past three months. I don't know how to reach her. I don't know how to help her. I keep hoping that she will find her own way, her own path toward wholeness. But I must admit, there are many days where I still feel raw, where I still feel fragmented. How can I possibly guide her to wellness when I am not sure I have arrived there myself?
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