The moon is no door.

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To introduce you to somewhere I go to renew my spirit – and I am off there within a few weeks.  It is definitely overdue – I am strung out and my reserves are all run dry.  I surprised myself by having a mini melt down on Friday.  It was a scary reminder of the landscape of breakdown, and I am keeping myself as safe as I can by reminding myself of all the positives in my life.  The greatest being the family relationships I have, but even these are unable sometimes to stave off the harsh reality of living with a fragility of mind that can be threatened by the stresses of everyday life. I know that to want to remain in the land of the living I need to renew my connections with people – the cruel paradox being that the feelings are strong drivers in the opposite direction. I want to run to the hills.

Actually, in the midst of it, I don’t want the hills. I want oblivion.

That’s the scariest part.  I grieve for all those like Sylvia Plath that were unable to access the help modern drugs can give – I know I am frightened to contemplate a reality without mine – perhaps one day.

The Moon and the Yew tree

“This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs at my feet as if I were God,
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility.
Fumy spiritious mists inhabit this place
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky –
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection.
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.

The yew tree points up. It has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness –
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars.
Inside the church, the saints will be all blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness – blackness and silence.”

Sylvia Plath

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3 thoughts on “The moon is no door.

  1. janethmills

    Dear Anne,

    I hope you receive this. I want you to know how much your posts mean to me. I have the same fragility of mind, and don’t know how I would fare without my medications. Yesterday would have been my husband’s 76th birthday. Our family’s plans to meet at a state park to scatter his ashes were sidetracked by business travel and grandchildren’s sports games. So my two daughters made do with a cozy breakfast together, and then we went our separate ways. I tried to make arrangements to be with friends for the rest of the day. But I don’t have many, and the ones I do have were unfortunately for me, busy. So I was left with my thoughts. I went out last night to view the lunar eclipse for a while. A neighbor was outside as well. It seemed fitting in a celestial way that the eclipse occurred on my husband’s birthday. I was reminded that although the moon was darkened by the eclipse for a time, it passed, and then shone brightly once again. A reminder, perhaps, that death is not a finality, but a transition, nothing more. Thank you for putting yourself out there, for your honesty and courage. You are inspirational to me. Warmest regards, Janet

    Sent from my iPad

    >

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
    1. modestly Post author

      Dear Janet,
      Thank you for that reply, I appreciate it very much. Sometimes it is challenging to be left to confront our own thoughts but it appears that the universe was with you on this occasion – transition from one state to another feels right to me – the feelings remain with you, and I imagine your husband feels as important a presence in your life as ever he was. Beautifully articulated. Kindest regards
      Anne

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      Reply
      1. janethmills

        Thank you, Anne. I’m honored that you posted my comment. My best wishes are with you. My dream would be to give you a hug in person, back in the U.K. “…where my heart lies.” (Thank you, Paul Simon.)

        Liked by 1 person

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