At some point life must return to normal.
Eleven weeks have passed through which I have held the heavy without pause or even a second thought. Sometimes surviving means not thinking too much, taking what comes and doing whatever works in the moment even if it is miles from your truth.
You can go on like this for a while, then one day you wake up and realize the crisis is over. You made it through alive. The sun is shining, the horses have arrived and you have not stepped outside to stretch or take a breath since before the big day when everything changed and you hunkered down to wait it out.
Walking down this long straight country road I can see for miles. I can feel the sun on my face, the strength of the mountains and my own weakness from sitting up for so long with the world on my back. So many sunrises have gone unnoticed, so many moons gone forever. Sitting in the dark waiting makes you tired.
Drink water. Put your feet on the earth. Feel it.
It didn’t disappear even though I felt like I did.
When the fog begins to lift you slowly start to notice your surroundings again. You see what has become normal even though it really isn’t… You see the piles of plastic distractions purchased out of fear, sympathy, sorrow, meant to ease an unnatural transition, a trauma glossed over by pink princess presents. Pampers added to a trash can overflowing with disposable convenience, too many hours in front of the TV. Kitchen stocked with foods you would normally never buy and way too much time spent indoors, stuck.
Time to sift through the rubble left over from this disaster and build a life again. I’ve been here before. I know how to do this.
When I started making tortillas again I knew that I was coming back. Finally waking up from this long, disorienting sleep, now it’s time to clean house. How do I really want to live?
Time to ask Spider Woman, Na’ashjéii Asdzáá, to help me weave a new web. In the old days I would have piled some blankets in the back of the Subaru, headed out to spider rock and just sat there silent until she showed me something… This time I’ll dream about her in those quiet spaces that sometimes find me. Time to cedar myself off and start singing again. And start walking the road.