Apr. 22nd, 2021

sisceal: Photo of a cats paws, overlaid with a refracted rainbow (Default)
In this last week of my masters program, I would give just about anything to be in physical space with my cohort who has suffered and struggled and grown alongside me for the past three years.
We used to gather every Friday to decompress together at this crappy hotel bar called the Congress and I was not ready for the last silly, exhausted, too short gathering there to be the last one ever.
I lost nearly half of this sacred time and space of formation to this goddamn pandemic and I'm fuckin... Wistful.

It is too much to ask us to take ourselves apart piece by piece as we learn to be of ultimate service without also being able to hold each other in our clear-eyed brokenness, or sacred moments of total loss. I think all the time about what it would be like to hold the hand of a colleague again after a difficult conversation or lovingly regarded conflict. I think of what it felt like to live for a month at a time with no exposure to others outside of the covenantal relationship, exploring the practice of reciprocal trust so deeply that resurfacing into the standard world brings a mix of relief and shock and frustration.
I miss those little moments of respect for each other - holding thoughtful silence over breakfast while each resident prepares for another day. Listening carefully to someone's process over lunch. Sitting in communal heartbreak over someone's unbidden flood of tears. Sudden soul-bearing regarded as an expected daily occurrence, not a weird or threatening error of vulnerability.

I miss the mid-week exhaustion. Rolling our eyes at ourselves as we get prickly, leaning on the grace of awareness. The spontaneous appearance of food or coffee for anyone going wanting. The casual sharing of play-doh and stim toys as we all work to keep our focus.

The ranting and debating which lasts late into the night, disrupted by a sudden shared awareness of a whispered snowfall or full silver moon. Long weekend days on pajamas wandering through the living room, silently turning pages in library books.

And oh, the library! The first of the morning light reflecting off the lake into the extra-real window wall. Librarians who might actually be the living embodiment of love of knowledge. Deep in the stacks, entire stretches of time unexplored. The soft paper of yellowed pages whispering forgotten memories into the still, ink-scented air.

I miss... Knowing that people around me understood that this is fucking hard. I can't begin to tell you HOW hard. But the awareness was palpable, and that's gone now - mixed with a digital denial, and the impossible expectation that this path can be made accessible to everyone with no sacrifice. We were given some tools and thrown to the winds, knowing that if we were to fly, it would be by choice.

I miss my colleagues. I can still hear the sound of freezing rain against the windows of that hotel bar. I can taste the weak drinks and see the frenzy as tired people blow off steam dancing to the jukebox. This is never coming back, but I'll treasure those two years forever.

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sisceal: Photo of a cats paws, overlaid with a refracted rainbow (Default)
Miranda Ro

June 2021

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