I’m supposed to write a stream-of-consciousness piece. Surprisingly enough, I have lots of ideas. About pain. About dogs and fluffy bathrobes. Last night my husband talked about the most painful parts of his life with his sister. I was there, listening, but staying out. This is the history that they both share and don’t share and it is very painful for both of them. There are wildfires burning California, people dying, burning to death in their cars as they try to make it to safety. And yet, here am I. Safe. It feels impossible to take care of the pain. It’s not mine, I don’t own it, I don’t feel that I can fix it or prevent it, yet...What? What are we supposed to be doing, anyway? If we can’t take care of each other’s pain, what can we do? Witness it, I suppose. Be present. See the pain. Acknowledge that it’s there. It’s real. Don’t allow my own sense of safety make it impossible to withstand the discomfort of another’s pain.
And just like that, it’s gone. I put on a fluffy robe that delights my dogs. They rub their faces on it and nibble at it with tiny, tiny little bites. Why would dogs enjoy such a silly thing? The robe has been hanging on a hook on my bedroom door, too hot to wear for months. They were able to pull the belt off and chew it into two pieces that they left in the hall upstairs. Now my beltless robe hangs open on me, with two brown-and-white heads pressing against it, little front doggie teeth working the bumpy soft fabric.
And so it is. Pain offset by pleasure. The pain of others observed, the pleasure of others observed. I’m not a very empathic person, I’m just not. Yet I can see others. Sometimes I think I see them very clearly. I see and I know. I try to remember to tell, to tell them what I see. It feels like the only thing I have to offer. I don’t know if others find it useful or not. All I can do is offer. It’s hard to tell what this is meddling or judging or the gift I can give.. I suppose that’s the way of my life now. The rushing kaleidoscope of most of my adulthood it over. In a way, things have slowed down so I can look. What I do from moment to moment isn’t as important any more, so I can look and savor and not act. In that way, life has slowed down, while the weeks and months rush past me as I get older and older heading into the diminishment of my life.
