The Catharsis

Writing this blog does much to clear my mind of emotional dust bunnies. In a previous blog – The Soul – I was surprise that my mother’s lack of love for me was still something I cared about. I thought I was well over it. It seemed to go against pretty much all the work I had done with John over the years. It’s only later on, once the story was posted that I understood. It was not a cry for her love, but a farewell.

It was the fact of writing it which confirmed its conclusion. So long as there is hope, however faint, there is no moving on, but hope is a private emotion which lodges deep inside oneself. It is rarely shared, because just as deep inside, we know the hope is vain. The admission, though sad, opens the way to letting go.

"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves. We must die to one life before we can enter another." - Anatole France