Sunday, January 31, 2010

Place entry #2 - week of 1/25-1/31

Anne Putnam Mallinson Pond, 1961; dedicated on Oct. 25, 2008, reads the plaque attached to a small boulder near an oblong shaped pond behind Mellon Building on Chatham campus. Due to fluctuating outdoor temperatures, the pond appears to have three different regions at the surface. A small artificial fountain where water flows in three thin prongs keeps the water liquified  at the southern edge. In the middle, a thin layer of ice persists, and transparent enough to reveal oat-colored leaves blanketing the bottom. At the north end, a few feet away, a thin layer of snow remains, concealing thicker ice and the bottom.

The sound of flowing, bubbling, cascading water always calls me home. If I listen carefully enough, it sings and laughs. A closer look into the water and a careful listen will reveal its story and my own.

Snow and ice silenced and immobilized me in my 20s. Frozen. Paralyzed. Blind. I was unable to see through people in order to assess their character and unable to see myself. Medicated on prozac, I was thrashing within a deep dark abyss, desperately trying to break through to the surface if not just for one gasp of air before feeling shoved back down again.  My hopes and dreams were frozen.  I was in hibernation. I was functioning, but not living. An invisible evil had seized my brain, partially distorting reality, and who I should trust. The person to whom I gave everything was destroying me one cell at a time.

Around the bend toward my 30s, the sun rose and miraculously shined into my soul, slowly melting away the darkness. An unhealthy relationship gradually came into focus. People could see through me. Some knew how to respond, others didn't. I wasn't yet ready to acknowledge and release the pain.

I'm now swimming closer and closer toward the water of life. At times I may appear to simply tread water, and when I move, my strokes are far from perfect, but I am definitely flowing and bubbling above water. I'm learning to breathe. I'm learning to float and find rest. I'm allowing the healing to wash over me. When the tears come, I freely release them.

Life lessons are learned in phases and sometimes resemble the different phases of water. We have all endured challenges during the ice phase and a melting of some sort. We are at our healthiest and most productive when we feel free to be who we are and allow the healing waters to wash over us.


Beverly said...

Love the way you express your thoughts.

Melanie Dylan Fox said...

Is this your place entry for this week? I love how you're using it as a springboard to your other thoughts. But I'd also like a more concrete and palpable sense of place as well. Especially since when I was last on campus, the whole pond area was all torn up and under construction.