Belly of the Whale

JOURNAL OF OCTOBER


1.

A somber day after a long night. I came home to find gifts, once given, taken back. A tapestry given to me as welcome home present. A candle for Christmas. A picture for my birthday just a few weeks ago. I came home and they were gone.

They were gone along with all of her plants and things, a few dishes, soap, some pillows. But the tapestry, it was black with gold elephants and embroidery. It must have been Nepalese. The tapestry reminded me of my trip to Nepal and our long correspondence. It reminded me of her and our love. But it was also beautiful and looked beautiful on my futon bed.

The picture, the candle. They were mine and I loved them. They were pieces of me and symbols of her. They were mine and they are gone. And I won’t fight for them.

I miss Wendy. I left her yesterday. We were at an end. There was nowhere left to go. Of course it is never so simple. I am hurt and she is hurt. She wasn’t ready; she had more to give; she had more to risk.

In a way I cheated her. I won’t let her continue. I won’t let her win. She wants it to work so badly. It hurts me to think about it. She may hate me now.

She took an indelible marker and inked out a picture of us I had laminated on my desk. That was my picture, my desk – why did she have to destroy it? What need? How does it serve her, how does it help? I feel it is to hurt me, to take what ever she can from me. But why, as if I don’t hurt enough?

I take the blame. I am sorry. But I love Wendy and I’m not going to through any of it away. I love what we had and shared. She can’t take my memories.

It hurts for someone to try and destroy something you love. I want to love her still. How can I? How can I respect her now? She has come into my house without me, stolen things I love. She has destroyed things, any sign of her. She left behind a necklace I gave her. Red coral, I bought it for her in Nepal this summer.

I didn’t want us to be so different. I didn’t want to fight. I wanted to love her and get along. But fights make loving more difficult. Loss of trust make loving near impossible. It isn’t my fault that we couldn’t hold things together. It isn’t her fault either – it wasn’t meant to be. I love her still. I am hurt, but I think her pain, her hurt made her angry enough to lash out at me. I don’t want to believe it was her.

Maybe tomorrow she will be sorry. Maybe tomorrow will change things. How can we be friends; how can we go on? What happened to respect? It seems with pain all else has fallen away.

I feel so violated. I have been robbed and vandalized by someone I love. I feel the need to lock my doors now, like I have something to be afraid of. Why? Have I done something so wrong that now I am in fear? I have hurt someone so deeply that now they are exacting a vengeance on me? I have lost some sort of innocence.

But this is not so. It shall pass. What is new? People get hurt even if we love them. Love can turn to hate and I must bare it if it is true. It will pass. What will remain of my love then? Perhaps that is what she wishes to destroy. Love is not invincible. Tapestries can be stolen. Pictures can be erased. That is life. But my memories are mine and I will cherish them. Why would I do otherwise? Why would I want to destroy them?

I have abandoned her. I have left her alone, hurt, and yearning. I let myself become valuable, become loved and then yesterday I walked away. I called and end. I’m sorry. I have been so afraid. I could let it go on. I hope you can forgive me.

You know why? You know that it wasn’t working. I know you can understand. You too have been to the very edge. You left me only a week ago before redoubling your strength. Through your pain you must understand? Don’t forget our love, don’t destroy our past. Please.

I don’t understand. I hope tomorrow teaches. I hope this sorrow lifts. Wendy, I hope you don’t destroy all that once was. What a waste of something that once was a joy.

3.

Genny is here, the Genny of legend, but now she is new, changed, empowered. She has a foreign look to her dark eyes.
She talks about healthy things and has gained healthy weight. She laughs and talks with a vigor she never had.

I can futilely express the joy I found today. Something is renewed, something old and cherished. I find a dusty joy in seeing her smile and glances. My love must still be with me, dormant. What every I feel is welcome.

She also made me miss Wendy all the more. We spoke about the science and style of sex. It reminded me of how I love it and that it is now lost from me. Must it be this way?

4.

Genevieve is here. We walked up the waterworks trail and watched the sunset. We took pictures and laughed and told old stories.
We have never been as close as we are now. We have both changed, both of us. She is outgoing and communicative in a way she never has been before. I am less domineering and pushy, more easygoing. We can both relax more in our company.

Dinner with her dad was pleasant, Macenzie River and Saw Wa Dee. Tonight we walked down the railroad track and she sang me some jazz tunes. We talk about John Caesar. We talked about our hopes and dreams, and our fears.

It feels so good to be close again. Why does this girl mean so much to me? I have never known. It is so mysterious and elegant somehow. I don’t understand it. She is the only woman I have ever thought I could marry. Why? She was the first woman I loved, but is that why?

Even now I love her, not like before, but I want to please her, her happiness is important to me. We have spent a part of the evening talking about sex. It makes me miss Wendy, but also it is intimate talk and makes me feel closer to Genevieve as well.

What now? It is two-thirty a.m. She is leaving me soon and I will go back to my writing missing Wendy.

7.

Again I have sat in the womb of my home, the tub, and pondered and muddled over the direction of things. I dug and dug, focused on going deeper, going to the point. There were so many tangential issues, so many problems that seemed to me balanced and equal. I had to resolve them. I had to build a hierarchy, a causal chain until I reached some end.

What is at stake? What have I to gain, this way or that? What is fear, what is distraction? For once does fear reside with pleasure? What a rare case!

I remember back to when I was last befuddled as I am today. I remember that what seemed like a mistake, when I said “what the fuck” and pledged; it was only a mistake in the narrow-minded sense. At the time it caused pain and problems. But in the end it sent me to Jackson, to the A.T., and to Montana. Some mistake that was. Today I am back; I am confused. I want to shout, “What the fuck,” and go with my love, my passions. But then I calm myself and remember all that I have at risk. I have so much to lose by being with Wendy: good grades, education, time, health. I am afraid of losing them. Isn’t that why I should go with her, risk it? But also I am afraid to lose her, give her up when we are so new together, before I have learned from her and of her. What about that fear? It doesn’t feel as convincing.

I feel I am not respecting my fears. Perhaps this is so. I love the gamble, but this time I am gambling large. I could end up with a child or depressed, or hurting someone, missing opportunities.

But what an opportunity this is. So we are different, so we have problems. I am learning patience and sacrifice, I am humbling myself toward someone who, at present, I don’t see as my equal.

Is there good in this? Am I turning hypocrite, am I selling all for sex and pleasure? Perhaps! But life is living what we find in it. I need experience, not knowledge – wisdom is not found in books but in scars, battle, and love.

So I will follow, tentatively. I will build greater boundaries for myself; I will learn the nature of vulnerability. I will suffer perhaps. Maybe this is the path of greatest suffering – though I thought it was the other.


8.

I feel rejuvenated, alive and hopeful. I have Wendy back in my life. I am not in despair. I am feeling well, though my ankle and groin have been sore to over stretching. Strange injuries though, I don’t remember hurting either.

Things have run smoothly. I handed in another story – and will hand in yet another on this coming Wednesday. The progress is exciting. I am pleased with my work. I am slightly obsessed right now. I am working hard and putting off all else. My reading is a bit behind. But soon I will only have revision. I owe Debra our assignments as well. Everything seems to have a purpose and is invigorating.

10.

Bed time. Stories on my mind. How to begin? What is my real theme – and how do I weave it. What could supplement; what more can I do, a parallel maybe? Fear and Dzogchen reflection are elemental. I would like to talk about the Melong. What else is being reflected in the story. Light reflects everywhere. The cows overcome there differences. I fight with myself, but find ease in the mountains. They show me what I had forgotten. I had lost my courage, I had forgotten my love. **This is not written so far.** By facing my fears in the mountains, I learn about myself. Write this!! How?

11.

I wanna go home. . .bom bom bom
I’m tired and I wanna go to bed
I had a drink a couple of hours ago
And its gone right to my head

No matter where I might roam
By land, sea or foam
. . .

Need I say more.
Tonight Wendy and I went and had dinner with Derek and Erin. We played scrabble for hours before eating a grand spaggetti squash. I left early to head home and do some writing. Before leaving, we sat in the park and talked and talked. It was lovely. We have really developed a good friendship. I am comfortable and happy. She tried to lull me into coming to her house, but I thought it better if I refrain – since we have spent a lot of time together this weekend already.

I really wanted to go into the woods with Pat and Peter – but it wasn’t to be. I have so much work. I have gone out nearly everynight – no every one! How did that happen? It’s been good, but I have so much work. My stories need work as well. Hopefully I can dream a good beginning to Moonshadows walking. This paper is not coming along so well. I have a difficult topic, but I am learning a lot. I hope I can turn it into something.

I need to start working on my 310 assignments.

12.

A cool Autumn day. A Montana day. The wind is blustering down the street and around the corner. Light peaks out behind deep clouds, but only for a second, even though the day is still reasonably bright and cheerful.

The trees are preparing, rattling there leaves like a push out the door. They litter the town yellow. Color fades from the grass and is covered by leaves. Even the sky is grey. Hats and scarves come out of the closet. Hot water is on the stove throwing steam in the air. Gloves are worn again on bicycle rides into the breeze scattering leaves across the road as you peddle.

Next week will be the end of the farmer’s market. Saturday I saw wreaths and pumpkins, squash and sunflowers – all fall colors and dry. Everything seems quiet and dry.

The mountains are still brown, a relief to those without a joyful anticipation of what lies ahead. Each morning I look up to see if that time is near, if the dusty snow has moved back into Missoula for the season.

[I only left the house once all day – to run. Great day!]