building a bigger boat.

(journal sharing-from my trusty blue notebook

so these posts tend to be raw, unedited and long)

they speak of building bigger boats.

vessels to carry me along this journey.

they being

the writers of the words i am clinging onto

as i navigate this stretch of river.

i call this whole "unwell" process my river.

this oh so winding, and much longer than i could

ever have imagined river.

costructing a bigger boat-

making room and space for the new me.

the me that will somehow mysteriously birth from this never ending labour.

oh i thought i was prepared. i could sense a few months back

the potential for complications.

it was looking as if this transition would be painful,

relentless.

but i thought i kew what to do.

(and perhaps, i do)

prepare the environment, create places of rest and nourishment,

read the right books, learn the language of healing,

attend to the issues at hand, make peace with God.

consult and trust the doctors

and the ones who had walked this path,

walked the path

that led to the shores of my river before.

but oh no, that hasn't been enough.

the books pile up, open, bookmarked,

underlined, carried close.

and the places of rest call me and i visit

there and find no comfort.

and this vessel. this boat, they call it.

well, if it is becoming bigger, if i am building a wider, sturdier, solid vessel

i can't tell anymore.

i am  journeying in one of the trecherous sections of my river.

 this must be the place the maps put little notations beside

warning of rapids and the need to be prepared.

(and i didn't read the finely printed danger signals on the contract i suppose)

i didn't agree to  this part of my journey just as others didn't agree or sign up for sections of theirs.

i get that. i know i am not the only one.

this does not bring comfort.

there is a bone aching, head clogging, heart slowing wearing despair that is growing

fiercer and louder and more powerful than the day before.

each morning

(this week at least-  but the optimist whispers "maybe not next")

i start up with grand intentions and often befoe i even rise from the pillow

on my bed,

the pain has come to join me.

and she does not leave. oh no

she grows stronger as the hours pass.

perhaps this part of the (winding river) journey

is so beautiful, somewhere, that i can't yet see,

that pain wants to join me.

perhaps, but i can't see that. nor do i accept or really believe

that even as i write the words down.

it is a stretch for me...

thinking this way.

can i embrace this pain as a friend?

as a companion that will help me build that stronger, bugger boat?

is this pain actually the very stretching that needs to.

wants to. is asking to

help me become.

can i - will i

 possibly be able to reframe pain that much-

to actually welcome her in?