Out of control

Out of control

One of the best things you can do for yourself is to know when to let go. When to acknowledge that this has gone beyond your control. For it can be at that time that you then pick up the pieces and resume control again.

I have had a few of those experiences lately. Holding on to something that just isn’t yours to hold can be draining and I cannot afford to let the well go dry; I do not want to lose contact with the things that are of greater importance, which can happen when you fixate on that which just cannot be fixed.

Easier said than done though. Especially when your heart, that vulnerable yet powerful entity that thrashes within you, wants it to go differently.

I can really understand why Frida Kahlo painted such graphic, anatomic hearts in her work. Because when people leave, or you need to sever ties, it can be a painful, bloody mess.

You see, I just hate unpleasantness. That’s what mom always called issues that brought on bad feelings. I like to keep things on an even plain with limited fuss. I guess because I am rather afraid of the alternative. And of course that’s rarely possible when all the stars are aligned, so how can it hold up when you lose the one person who kept you afloat?

Simply put, it doesn’t and neither do you. Step back, let go, and for me, let God. Let Him throw in a few burning bushes, a flood, or the odd sacrifice or two while you get your breath, cry, sleep, and be upset. It doesn’t last for ever. Especially when cousins show up to help you hang a plate rack and bring wine. But seriously, there are always those who fill your bucket not empty it. I have pain, either emotional or physical or both everyday but I reach my limit when it catches me in that triangular spot that makes up throat and bosom. And then I hand it over to the higher power. He always manages to send me someone, or a good idea.

It’s been hard to rely on myself, but equally hard to rely on or trust others. Hemingway said, “the best way to find out if you can trust someone is to trust them.” Okay. I have tried that. I have reached out, in some cases fairly eagerly, in order to begin again or widen the circle. It has been good on occasion, but then that pulsating, sinewy, Kahlo heart emerges, and I don’t know… unpleasant.

So, I am working on it and most days I’m okay with that.

One half of The Two Fridas, 1939

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