Laying out in a hammock between two trees off to the side of the house drifting in and out of fantasy, nodding at times into dream..
The air feels wonderful, so soft as it moves around me. Warm with patches of hot, and tendrils rising cool from the earth.
The afternoon spent in waking dream and nap. Yet I have no desire to rise, focus and function, just lie.
The only noise is in the distance, vague, jumbled rumblings and hums.
There are other sensations too, the higher pitched tingle that is present in all life. An almost electric feeling that underlies all other sensations, almost as a fabric for the joys and trauma we feel less subtly.
It is a feeling that if surrendered to, reminds of bliss, yet more neutral. A deep center perhaps, to cling to in the wild trips to the farther reaches of living, joy and trauma. Still, everchanging....life.
Greta would want me to be as I am today, chilled in a hammock, warm, mind in a good place, quiet, calm. Neutral is hard for someone like me who swings wildly through passionate urges and desperate failures. But the wild swings and the neutral are both found in the same place; the observer, watching the mind in all its creation, providing illusion and reality.
I went to her funeral recently. Was not invited, went anyway. No one stopped me. Her partner cried noticing several young women, distancing, in the back, quietly weeping. Girls Greta had loved via her practice, unknown to her partner or each other. "Patients" officially. Loved individually and unconditionally none the less.
Thank you for letting her have her work. You gave up enough of her to save several of us.
Greta was my therapist.
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