Marrow Read Free Page B

I learned to do something many people are born knowing and then spend years in therapy trying to unlearn: I went into denial. For a whole day. This was revolutionary for me, someone whose heart stays unreasonably open most of the time.
    Like all of us, I have several characters living within me—there’s my vigilant rational self who lives in my head, my wild emotional self lodged in my heart, and a deeper self that some call the soul. That deeper self is always there, wiser than worry, vaster than fear, quick to see through the eyes of love. But the rational self is a bossy guy that crowds out the soul on a regular basis. Sometimes the rational self is right on the money, but often it is small-minded and tyrannical and it leads me into a cul-de-sac of overthinking. And my emotional self can spin out of control like a crazed dervish, throwing off sparks of joy and wonder, anger and despair. Round and round, I follow my mind and my emotions. The human experience is dizzying if we can’t find the still point in the midst of the turning.
    The still point is there. It is always there. I know it. I have found it again and again, even within the most turbulent whirlwinds. It may take me a while, but at least now I know there is a still point, and that the storm will pass and the center will hold. When I am in the grips of too much thinking, too much feeling, when I am frightened or ashamed, judgmental or paranoid, self-righteous or jealous, I know to wait, I know to pray, I know to trust. And sometimes, when there’s just too much noise—when my emotions whip up a storm, or my overactive mind chatters like a jackhammer—patience and prayer don’t cut it. That’s when it can be helpful to take a brief denial time-out.
    Which is what I did in Montana after receiving the phone bombfrom my sister. I locked up my emotional creature, turned off my repetitive mind, and went to the wedding without them. I mingled with the crowd; I oohed and aahed at the tent set in a wheat field under the big sky; I performed the ceremony as if I had done such a thing hundreds of times before. All the while, I kept the news of the phone bomb in some kind of top secret vault. Then, copying the behavior of partygoers throughout the ages, I downed several drinks at the reception so as to be able to make small talk and eat and dance. Denial! Where had you been all my life?
    The next morning, I left the family behind and got on a plane. It was nearly empty. I had a row of seats all to myself—a good thing, because the minute I buckled the belt, my heart reopened on its own accord. I let the feelings come. I gave over the reins to my emotional self. She took off right away.
    â€œMaggie’s too young to die,” I cried. “This is so unfair.”
    â€œThere’s no such thing as fair,” rational self interrupted, making a predictable comeback.
    â€œWell, it’s terrible nonetheless.” Now I was weeping. “She’s in the middle of a divorce; she doesn’t even have a home; her kids …”
    Rational self was unmoved. “No such thing as terrible, either. It is what it is.”
    Emotional self and rational self went on like this for a while until I tired of their either/or banter. I closed my eyes, and noticed that my shoulders were up around my ears. I dropped them down, softened my whole body, and breathed my way toward the still point until I could hear the voice of my soul.
    And there she was, telling me the truth: “Have faith,” my soul said. “You’ll see—your sister will grow from this; she’ll rise to meet it. And you will too. You’ll grieve and you’ll learn, you’ll rage and you’ll worry, but through it all you will grow deeper anddeeper into the truth of who you really are. You will, Maggie will, all who travel with her will uncover surprising treasures because of this path her soul has chosen.” When soul speaks,