The View From The Invisible Tent

I was so proud of my life, my independence. I was living my life on my own, adventuresome girl in the World, with a career, friends, success, my own apartment, paying my bills, making my way, observing, writing, dancing, loving, living, striding through the world. Exploring the wilds, mapping the unknown, finding troves, hunting and gathering sustenance, ascending dizzying heights.

I thought I was doing it all on my own, finally free from the baggage of family.

Then my mother died, and I realized that I'd been wrong all along. I had been living in a tent my whole life. A glorious tent, built and held up by my mother. She made the cloth, gave it structure, held it up for me. She even built the incredibly beautiful, expansive view that led me to think I was out on my own. It was so big. I had no idea she was behind it. Until she was gone, and my tent deflated. The world drained of color, structure, friendliness, wonder. And I was left with this limp, close, grey cloth sucking the air from me.

How do I reframe that tent? What does the view look like now? Will it ever be that colorful and glorious again? I get glimpses sometimes. But it seems those redwoods were just scrubby desert junipers, and the crystal palaces, humble mounds. I hope I'll see the beauty again. That somehow I'll recapture the glow and marvel. Perhaps her spirit can help me get there. Maybe I'll grow big enough once again. But for now, I sit, cross-legged in my tent, whittling sticks and napping flint, trying to recapture fire once again.
scibard scibard
36-40, F
May 17, 2012