Peaks, Valleys

Hi Anybody.

Saturday I went to the coast again, to Coos Bay this time, in the company of Gabriel to visit our friend Emily. You can see pictures of it here.

I have just about completely ceased to understand my brain, or my emotions.

Saturday was, maybe, the happiest day I have spent here, in far-off Oregon. Highlights include:

• Running merrily and madly through a forest above the Ocean, leaping over rocks and branches and climbing trees;

• Climbing down a ridiculous cliff to a rocky beach below, and climbing on the rocks and wading in the water;

• Running up an impossibly tall sand dune, then rolling down it again;

• Learning that the bars in Coos Bay are 40% cooler than the bars in Roseburg;

• The company of those delightful individuals, Gabriel and Emily.

And then there was today. Monday. Two days later. This was easily the most difficult day I have had here. Highlights include:

• Learning things I never wanted to know;

• Being terribly upset and leaving work at noon;

• Walking home two miles, running seven miles to Chill Out;

• Destroying things I owned;

• Crying for a solid hour.

The crying was fascinating. I do not cry easily. That's sort of a lie: Powerful images bring tears to my eyes and a seizing to my throat all the time. Movies, songs. Good Friday service (yes, I went to church on Good Friday); reading Keats's Ode to a Nightingale.

But out-and-out crying, with the sobbing, the tears, the snot? Forget about it. But I was exhausted from my run, and had run out of things to break. And on the internet, my friend the Guru said to me, "If I were you I would lay in my bed and cry."

I trust the Guru.

So: Roommate and his buddy, Bro, were in the living room. I went out and said, "Boys, I have made a decision."

"Yes?" says they.

(It's worth noting that Bro was asleep on the couch when I got home. He had already heard a fair bit of shouting.)

"Well," says I, "I am going....to cry."

"To cry!?"

"To cry. I have had it with this feeling; I do not desire to feel this way ever again. So I am going back into my room, and I am going to cry until all of it is gone. Then, I am going to make some spicy food, because that's what the Guru told me to do." (Cry until you're exhausted, the Guru had said, then make spicy food and eat it, because it shocks the senses.) "So be warned: You are going to hear things."

And having said this I went into my room, closed the blinds, turned off the lights. The Guru had said I must lay on my back -- It's your instinct to curl up in a ball, but if you do, you'll hold the feelings in. On your back, with your arms spread, is a very vulnerable position, and it has the effect of releasing the emotions -- and this I did. I spread my arms, pulled a blanket over my head, and began to cry.

It wasn't easy. I felt silly. I had thought silence would be good, but I could hear Roommate and Bro through the walls. So I plugged my headphones into my iTunes. I played all the saddest songs I could think of. The whole of Pet Sounds. Springsteen's Devils & Dust. This Must Be the Place. Everybody Hurts. The Bleeding Heart Show.

I had to force it, a lot of the time. For much of it, my eyes were not even damp, but I forced it out, "A ha a ha a haa!" After a while I noticed that I was actually laughing. So I called every painful image I could to mind. You know what I'm talking about. The first kiss. Summer days by the pool. Dancing and drinking; laughing, talking.

And by god, I cried. I bawled like a little child; I thrashed my arms and legs; I screamed.

After an hour of this, I was completely delirious. My face was tingling like hyperventilation. I was sobbing, my arms spread, repeating the phrase "Behold me Lord as I am," "Behold me Lord as I am," broken; destitute; my arrogance crushed, my postures abandoned; Ecce homo, "Behold me Lord as I am!" Begging a god to see, to comfort me, a god, anybody.

Nobody answered.

And I was exhausted. And disturbed by the burst of religiosity. And also, a little calmer and a little more at peace. I went into the kitchen and cooked rice and chickpeas and potatoes in Masala sauce, had a shower, laid down again.

Did my cry session work?

I'm not sure. I felt better for a time. Then out of nowhere I was overcome by anger. Terrible, overwhelming anger. I cursed and I screamed and I punched my pillows. So maybe it worked: I wasn't feeling sorrow anymore, though rage is hardly more fun (if easier to get out). I napped and woke and was sad again, and am a little sad now as I write this.

But less than before. And you know, crying was actually pretty fun. So I'm thinking: One really solid cry session a day, for the next week. And we'll see how things look after that!

Until next time, Anybody.