[Jackiejdajda]

Janeytwo

It is strange about the desert. Whenever I have described my silent grief, the one I suffered before I came to this forum, I describe it as a tunnel or a basement; some place dank and dark and murky. I had never thought about the journey as a trek through the desert and so I found this intriguing.

But when I muse on it I can see myself walking along, stumbling over rocks - cussing said rocks out - hearing rattle snakes and then coming up on a cactus and being thirsty and dehydrated. And in my mind I know that the cactus holds life-giving liquid but in order to reach that liquid I must reach out and deal with the cactus, reach through it's spines in order to tap it and drink the quenching liquid it offers. And that means I will probably prick my finger and I might bleed.

And once before we met up and once before we held hands and walked into the desert..
The person I met on CompuServe that helped me… kept me from being hidden in my home.. going nutty..
Listened to my angst.. and my terrors and all the things that worried me.. or read them as I typed them up in a fury..
I really like the part that if we do not bury our heads in the sand others will come along and help..

The silent grief..

And so I can see myself hestitating there. "This will hurt but if I don't do this I might likely die".

Hmmmmm....that was my decision after seeing that little clock. And so that little clock was my cactus.

And God put me here to say.. welcome back.. lets get on with it..

Scott Peck was the one that wrote that analogy about the desert and TS Eliot wrote the poetry..

“April is the cruelest month”

Burnt Norton..

And then.. the final part of this life journey that TS Eliot wrote about is in Little Gidding..

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.


I had an image of the children in the apple tree for a long time before I found my son..
And the fire..

Jackie