It has come to this. Just five days into the life of this blog, we have arrived at the inevitable, the perennial issue of mothers and children — raised in yesterday’s post re Kevin’s website and Darla’s comment. I suppose it was only a matter of time.
Well, specifically on that perennial issue of mothers and children — least said by me, soonest mended.
More generally — childhood losses, finds, and adult re-connections — Bugs was all of that, wrapped up in one willful, confounding gray-and-white furball. I had moments of piercing joy, just looking at him — of excitement at the potential for more lasting and durable connection with him — and of bafflement and, at times, of sheer despair at how to proceed with him.
My life as a child? Like I said, least said, soonest mended.
In my adult life I’ve re-entered that kind of intense feeling. I’ve felt the joy of the material-self through the FELDENKRAIS work: Laying hands on another person and, together, entering a domain of ease and well-being that’s been endlessly sustaining.
With Bugs? No dice. My hands literally itched to touch him. He would have none of them. Like I said yesterday — I couldn’t even sit next to him.
I’ve felt the joy of the emotional-self through the NONVIOLENT COMMUNICATION work: Connecting my own feelings and deepest aspirations with those of another person and, together, entering a domain of understanding and communion that’s been endlessly refreshing, sustaining.
With Bugs? Nuh-uh. My heart, my soul, yearned to understand him. In vain.
He was so beyond my reach. Out of my hands, utterly incomprehensible, and inflicting pain not pleasure.
That’s what I meant when I said, yesterday, that I needed help.
So maybe now we’re ready to talk about Mother Teresa.