Those of you who have known me for a while will know i am a metaphor junkie.
I live for the insights, wisdom and shear goosebump inducing synchronicity that metaphors deliver.
In my most recent newsletter i talked about the power of metaphor and offered space here on the blog for anyone who had a metaphor story they would like to share.
Dawn is an artist and her site Mental Mohair is here.
Please enjoy her story... and wonder about the hills in your own life <3
My fear is a hill. It was my mantra walking back up the hill this morning. For some time now, I've been grappling with fears of Death, hearing of others' deaths, dealing with my own mortality. Deaths of people whose children I know has a particular smack to it ~ as if Death is creeping in a little too close for comfort. Never mind the death of my mother four years ago of my father-in-law a little over a year ago; these are close, but not in the same way. I can't let this fear keep me from living. However, I am weighed down by any imaginary or impending health issues. I'm held with the fear of living on medications (yes, I am a Purist ~ I didn't come into this world on medications, I don't intend to leave it on them) or living in any restrictive fashion. So my fear is a hill. Shit, I'm even afraid of walking back up the hill! Can I handle it? Do I have a heart condition? It's a hill I'm most familiar with. I've walked it thousands of times. When we were a one-car family, I'd walk down to meet my young children and walk back up with them. A half mile of dirt road. So I know this hill intimately.
I take each step slowly and deliberately back up, my arms folded behind my back, for this is now a walking meditation requiring a certain focus. It is easier to look down at my feet because I can deal with one step at a time rather than the enormity of the hill. Tears sting at my eyes as I feel a sadness wash over me. Sadness for those who have passed, sadness for how this life is changing rapidly, sadness for the loss of identity I feel. (If I am not Mother, than who am I?) I let the tears come as I walk, one foot in front of the other. It isn't that I don't want to have these feelings or to have them fixed, pushed to the background of living or medicated. I want to feel them and know I'll be okay once they've had their run. The only way out is through ~ which opens another can of fears. My fear is a hill. One step at a time, I move through the feelings until I realize I need to get myself together because I see Henry walking his dog Hanna. I haven't seen either of them in too long and ask after them. Henry states he is fine, but he doesn't look it. He looks beaten up, small scabbed contusions on his brow, the elbow of his shirt torn and slightly bloodied. Hanna is a vigorous German Shepherd bitch he and his wife waited for from Germany. A delightful animal, but a handful for someone elderly and I often wonder if she is now too much for this elderly couple to manage safely. As Hanna strains to greet me, Henry releases the leash. Yes. This has happened. And now Henry has a new fear. I ask about Doris, his wife. She is mending and then explains further upon my confused reaction that she'd fractured her leg. Our fear is a hill.
I'd crested the hill by the time I met Henry and Hanna ~ one step at a time. They were on their way down. I hold a prayer in my heart he'll make it back up with Hanna still on leash. Safe as houses.
I am only fifty years old. This could be the first third of my life rather than being at the halfway mark. It might be better to remember how vital and healthy I am rather than focus on what's changing or not working. It might be better to recognize the working through of these fears as simply another chapter in Life rather than succumbing to them. My husband and I switch on and off with these sorts of days. On my teary-eyed, worrisome moments he comforts me and on his I comfort him. I am so glad not to be walking this hill of fear alone. We carry each other.
I live for the insights, wisdom and shear goosebump inducing synchronicity that metaphors deliver.
In my most recent newsletter i talked about the power of metaphor and offered space here on the blog for anyone who had a metaphor story they would like to share.
Dawn is an artist and her site Mental Mohair is here.
Please enjoy her story... and wonder about the hills in your own life <3
My fear is a hill. It was my mantra walking back up the hill this morning. For some time now, I've been grappling with fears of Death, hearing of others' deaths, dealing with my own mortality. Deaths of people whose children I know has a particular smack to it ~ as if Death is creeping in a little too close for comfort. Never mind the death of my mother four years ago of my father-in-law a little over a year ago; these are close, but not in the same way. I can't let this fear keep me from living. However, I am weighed down by any imaginary or impending health issues. I'm held with the fear of living on medications (yes, I am a Purist ~ I didn't come into this world on medications, I don't intend to leave it on them) or living in any restrictive fashion. So my fear is a hill. Shit, I'm even afraid of walking back up the hill! Can I handle it? Do I have a heart condition? It's a hill I'm most familiar with. I've walked it thousands of times. When we were a one-car family, I'd walk down to meet my young children and walk back up with them. A half mile of dirt road. So I know this hill intimately.
I take each step slowly and deliberately back up, my arms folded behind my back, for this is now a walking meditation requiring a certain focus. It is easier to look down at my feet because I can deal with one step at a time rather than the enormity of the hill. Tears sting at my eyes as I feel a sadness wash over me. Sadness for those who have passed, sadness for how this life is changing rapidly, sadness for the loss of identity I feel. (If I am not Mother, than who am I?) I let the tears come as I walk, one foot in front of the other. It isn't that I don't want to have these feelings or to have them fixed, pushed to the background of living or medicated. I want to feel them and know I'll be okay once they've had their run. The only way out is through ~ which opens another can of fears. My fear is a hill. One step at a time, I move through the feelings until I realize I need to get myself together because I see Henry walking his dog Hanna. I haven't seen either of them in too long and ask after them. Henry states he is fine, but he doesn't look it. He looks beaten up, small scabbed contusions on his brow, the elbow of his shirt torn and slightly bloodied. Hanna is a vigorous German Shepherd bitch he and his wife waited for from Germany. A delightful animal, but a handful for someone elderly and I often wonder if she is now too much for this elderly couple to manage safely. As Hanna strains to greet me, Henry releases the leash. Yes. This has happened. And now Henry has a new fear. I ask about Doris, his wife. She is mending and then explains further upon my confused reaction that she'd fractured her leg. Our fear is a hill.
I'd crested the hill by the time I met Henry and Hanna ~ one step at a time. They were on their way down. I hold a prayer in my heart he'll make it back up with Hanna still on leash. Safe as houses.
I am only fifty years old. This could be the first third of my life rather than being at the halfway mark. It might be better to remember how vital and healthy I am rather than focus on what's changing or not working. It might be better to recognize the working through of these fears as simply another chapter in Life rather than succumbing to them. My husband and I switch on and off with these sorts of days. On my teary-eyed, worrisome moments he comforts me and on his I comfort him. I am so glad not to be walking this hill of fear alone. We carry each other.
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