So this is what's it's like to be alive. (nb-Dec 3, '11).

No need to couch this in poetic ambiguity. It's simple.

Back when I had a heart, years ago, I shut down.The pain too much to bear for my 9 year old frame, of mind, my heart.

I did it automatically. Somehow. I didn't have to be taught. No one had to teach me how. I did it all by myself. Instinct?

When too much is too much, the body, the psyche, just knows I guess

Just stops.
Feeling
Whatever

So easy.
Like breathing.
A baby could do it.

Turning it back on was another thing. Not so simple. A sticky trick one plays on one's self. One doesn't hurt if one doesn't feel. Or cry. Or laff. Whatever.

Empathy? Impossible.

But now, miraculously, I'm free. Petardless. Joy in its many rainbow hued splendours. Unbounded. Sorrow, deep as an ocean trench, wide as the south pacific. Pain. Like a knife sliding across a cornea, salty tears an electrified cat 'o nine tails lashing the freshly flayed bones clean.

Keen
Excruciating
Intoxicating
My heart doesn't know whether to burst or break.


So this is what it's like to be alive.

Here's the thing. When I shut down, I was too Jung to know better, unable to bear the "slings and arrows of [my] outrageous fortune."

50 years later, emerging from my self imposed solitary confinement like a bewildered Rumplestiltskin blinking in the friendly and intensely penetrating glare of the mid day sun, eyes watering, knees wobbling, yet so comforted by the warmth, so happy in the moment, joy a cherry popsicle, I look around to share the moment...

And

There's no one.

No "So glad you're back."
No "How are you"
No "You're safe now."
No "Tell me all about it."

To hold me and let me know I'm here.