what does it mean to cope?

what does it mean to progress? we measure progress by successes. by attaining a triumph, or two. by defeating an enemy, by sustaining a winning streak. by curbing the urge to give in to temptation, to maintain a sickness a depression by continuing non-productive means of coping.

what does it mean to cope? coping implies a hidden pain. a life free of burden requires nothing but openness. only when you’ve had a few doors wrongly thrown against your face do you strive to shield yourself from the impending and certain onslaught. my arms are braced for impact, my heart races at the thought of what it to come. i have been thrown into the world of harsh reality, and sometimes its just too painful to bear. sometimes the places of pain and darkness become life’s only comfort, life’s only familiar place, the heart’s only familiar feeling.

if i was born in a cave of darkness, the light and color of the world would seem foreign, frightening. if i were born in a land of milk and honey, the damp, crepuscular world beneath the earth would stifle and suffocate me. but our reality can change. we are adaptable. like the iris of the eye, our minds can shrink and expand to buck the inherent dynamism of life.

what does it mean to cope? it means an aversion to change. we are not made of water. we are not made of earth. we are not made of air, or fire. we are all; immutable. we can flow through life like a brook, a stream, rage through existence with the voracity of wildfire, we can float above affliction and peer down upon ourselves like eagles over a lake rippled with big fish. we must protect ourselves. like the lake fish, we keep our eyes to the sky, our eyes to the lakebed. we search for threats, we search for that which nourishes us.

i am a deer. i am a deer in a deep, dark forest. i am alone. i am comforted. i watch the other deer, frolicking about in the open meadow. i watch them kick their hind legs, bow their heads, twist and whirl in a blissful existence of naivetivity. i once played in the same field. i ate the lush grass, enjoyed the sunshine on my face. do i dare enjoy this place? i shall don my horns of wisdom and walk upon this space. i have heard the nightingales singing, each to each.

i do not think that they will sing to me.

together in solitude

two days after christmas, we went to a cabin in Estes Park, to be alone to be together. my brothers and i, our aging parents. even though we come from different blood, i consider them my brothers. perhaps our genetic barrier is what forces us to make the extra effort to be closer to one another. honestly, i don’t know what i’d do without them

the YMCA encourages you to find your inner child. the boys went ice skating, roller skating, hiked a bit, smoked cigarette after cigarette and navigated their free time like two teenagers who’d cut class. enjoyment of life seemed a novelty to them. uncomfortable with time, time that was theirs, to do with it what they pleased. they made wooden airplanes, powered by twisted rubber bands and flew them in an open field in the middle of the rocky mountains, wearing black pea coats and thin socks.

it’s as if they didn’t belong. and that is ok.

adjusting to your old home, coming back from living far away, making the familiar the foreign and the foreign the familiar is one of the most alienating life experiences. i feel the same way, when returning to colorado, my home, the land of beards & beer & mountains. it’s what i dream of, and it’s what fuels my insomnia.

my mother made tea. my dad went fishing. we came together and played games and silently picked puzzle pieces together as the sky lost light and the moon crept over the tops of some jagged, rusting mountains in the distance.

the fire warmed my legs. i moved the grate as little sparks spat out, and ben yelled, concerned i didn’t know what i was doing. i knew. i always know. even if it’s to my detriment, i always know.

i took long walks with my mother. she’s aging, but simultaneously discovering the child she never had the time to be. her dedication to a new path, yoga, Ayurveda, conjures up a new light and energy in her i have never seen before – perhaps it’s because i was too young to care to look. now, i look for her spark, i cherish it. i beg her to cherish it herself. it’s far too easy to worry about a mother who worries too much. my mother worries too much. as a perfect daughter, i would give her nothing to worry about. i’m always striving to do just that.

our time at the cabin was tense, a bit, but one of the times i will cherish most. i will cherish learning how to be a big sister to my big brother. i will cherish learning to turn the car on an old relationship and embrace driving down a new road, in a new direction, creating new definitions of what it means to “love”. we are not what we were, and i must learn to love what we are and what we will be. i want my brother back. and once he finds himself and his power and happiness, i will once again hold his hand and walk down the black beaches of La Jolla and talk of tide pools, of sunshine, of things that matter and things that don’t.