Orthodoxy is taking me apart it seems. I feel as though all the pieces of me are being removed, examined, cleaned up and ready for restoration and repair.
That is my hope, at any rate.
Right now, I only feel as though I’m being taken apart. I can feel each piece when it’s removed. This empty space holds air and time. The framework of me keeps the empty space, ready to be filled. The framework is good. The structure is sound. That’s comforting.
It’s difficult to live with the empty space. I’m having moments in which I’m reduced to tears, for things I cannot even see. I’m typically good at knowing what kind of tool was used to unhinge me, seeing the part for myself that perhaps needs to be removed. I think I even mention daily, hourly to God what I think the trouble is…
‘have you checked the alternator?’
‘have you replaced the spark plugs?’
He always nods, not absently, He’s never absent…but He doesn’t look me in the eye while He works. He’s very focused, I can see that. I need to let Him work.
This process is painful. It truly is painful. The pain comes from unexpected places, placed I cannot even name yet. I have no idea what kind of words to use to describe the hurt, the loss, the grief. And for a writer, for me, that’s torture.
It may be why I’m writing so much poetry right now. An economy of words. Saying much with few words and lots of emotion.
I’ve a feeling I’ll be driving around this empty chassis for a while yet. Maybe years. When the pieces start to be put back into place, when the engine fires and runs smoothly, that will be a start.