Of oysters and fogs and brilliance

Post surgery I feel as if I have been living in a fog. Shielding myself. Withdrawing. Living in an oyster at the far bottom of the ocean. I’ve been grouchy. I’ve been frumpy. I’ve been put under. I’ve wanted to stay under. I’ve wanted more pain meds as it seems so much easier to have your senses dulled; so much easier to stay in a haze; so much easier than to come back up to the surface and start swimming again. Jittery, trembly, (and yes pain meds give me the permission to coin my own words), of wavering spirit, of fickle courage.

Pain meds that make me foggy seem a safe recluse. I thought with certainty that I had finally abandoned this blog. I certainly have not wanted to write. I wondered why. No, not due to any lack of strength, or pain, or discomfort; but because it forces me to come to life, to question things, to get going, to keep moving.

For once I write, I wake up. Reluctantly. Unhappily. But I do wake up and reality seems like it won’t budge from in front of me. (And deep down I know it will be as good or as bad as I make it out to be) Waking up seems an effort. It seems so much easier to remain in a fog. For clarity is brilliant. Clarity hurts the eye. It seems easier to remain in the oyster at the bottom of the reef. In the soothing dim light, where you don’t need to squint from the sun.  For swimming to the surface requires effort. Swimming to the surface involves uncertainty of what may be waiting at the surface.

Writing is my letting go. Writing forces me to remain awake. Writing forces me to face the reality. Writing challenges me to dare my thoughts. To face my fears. And the less-than ideal state of my uncertainties, insecurities, and apprehensions.

Outwardly, I seem to be okay. Outwardly, I seem to be living my life. Why then have I refused to write? Could it be an undercurrent of tacit emotional upheaval beneath a calm and still surface that stops me? 

I do realize that I will at some point have to walk out of this haze. I realize there will be times, I will run back and seek recluse in it. I realize I will have to remind myself how easy it is to get lost in a fog. I realize I will slowly have to draw myself out of it. I hope I will. For the world outside the fog is brilliant and I would never want to miss its dazzle.

P.S. For all of you who called, emailed, messaged, or looked me in the eye and asked why I had stopped the blog, I apologize for the lack of response or the vague, evasive ones I furnished. Thank you for keeping me on track.  

Oh, and I added some pictures to blog posts written in India… it’s hard to believe it was all such a short while ago...
http://lettinggoexperiment.blogspot.com/2014/01/letting-go-by-becoming-part-of-bustle.html
http://lettinggoexperiment.blogspot.com/2014/01/life-in-rhythm.html
http://lettinggoexperiment.blogspot.com/2014/01/travel-and-letting-go.html