Life. What a game. Is it still beautiful further down the
road, further away from the ‘Master’? And if your baby drowned down the
plughole, mangled by despair, can you grow a new one? Does it fit better? And
if anyone out there has, can you tell me, is it remotely trustable? I feel like
a character in Pullman’s ‘Dark Materials’ severed from its daemon. My baby of
faith and trust has gone, evaporated. So much for taking the, ‘Don’t throw the
baby out with the bathwater’ advice. I can’t remember feeling I had a choice.
It bolted, didn’t want to hang around for the dark days. And so utterly
attached to it had I been for such a long amount of time that I felt a
rebellious liberation in watching it leave. It was almost satisfying to stick
my proverbial two fingers up at its disappearing form as I drifted around in
its wake, flailing around for comfort. It didn’t disappear all at once, my
faith. No great plan, it petered off in dribs and drabs; a principal here, a
discipline there, a bit of hope lost, touch of gratitude turned away.
I’m 4.5 years out.
Anyone got advice from a few years down the line? Making friends with the 'universe' again still feels like a mountain to climb.