The Story that it is Not a Story is Not a Story

Yesterday I backed away from making narratives, he said, narratively.

But it hit me that I am always telling tales. I posted the last few pages of Joyce's The Dead in a St. Patrick's homage and read it and realized that kinship with Gabriel. Making a story out of an experience. Of course we all do this.

But then I started experimenting with the idea that where I am has no story to tell. That, for example, there is no reason that the ex ended our partnership and there will be no lessons learned from it. Nothing will come of it. This runs so counter to my usual mythologizing and narrative building that it hit me like a shock. Ironically and in a way that made laugh out loud, I heard myself ask-- "but what would that mean?"

One of my Facebook friends posted "Fake it til you make it!" The thought crossed my mind: Do nothing until you do nothing.

Maybe I am simply leaving space. I have left a lot of spaces and I have been leaving space and leaving a lot of space. The most comforting place right now is the silence among all of the thoughts, questions, memories. My morning ten minute Vipassana meditation has been a roiling cloud of madness the past few days.

On a couple mile walk last night-- and here's some story for you-- where one has to pass through a gate and then walks along an ink blank line of water (a canal; Western Canal #7)-- it occurred to me that an interesting practice might be to substitute the form of gratitude for the form of anger, or sadness, or nostalgia. My sentiments most often run either into blazing resentment or aching nostalgia these days. And I think storytelling is an attempt at a knowing anodyne-- but of course, the map is not the territory. You can know where you are and not know shit about the place. Or you can know everything about a place but have no idea where you are. Knowing where you are and knowing everything about it-- is that reserved for gods?

What would it be like to give thanks for whatever it is that is passing through, wear it more lightly, and recognize that it was great to have the experience? It is much lighter and diaphanous than telling a story, which precipitates out of thin air and solidifies into something opaque and often sort of gunky.

I had dinner last night with a woman I've been friends on Facebook with for about 8 years. She is the only hypnotist on the island of Dominica. Quite a claim to fame. It lends itself to a story.

I also sent the following message to the ex regarding spending time with her son:

Good morning, I hope you are having a good Friday. 

I have been reflecting more on what time with the boy would be like in practical terms. Do you have a particular idea of what would work best for you? Do you have a sense of what he wants or would like? Knowing the boy and how complicated and busy your life and his are, I am imagining that a regular day and time would work best. I would be happy to get him from school on Thursdays at about 4 and take him somewhere 90 mins or so, help him with his homework, and then drop him off at your house after you get home, for example. Just one idea. Maybe that's more regular than you imagined. 

When you get a chance, please let me know what you and the boy have in mind and I will endeavor to make it happen. 

Thank you,

I have not received a reply, more than 24 hours later--

la·cu·na

ləˈk(y)o͞onə/

noun

1. an unfilled space or interval; a gap.

   
   

   "the journal has filled a lacuna in Middle Eastern studies"

   • a missing portion in a book or manuscript.
   • ANATOMY

     a cavity or depression, especially in bone.

So in the interstices is where I most want to put a story. If there were no spaces maybe we would just have immediate experience. I am not in the habit of saying to myself "It is probably meaningless that she has not replied in more than 24 hours." In fact, I am in the habit of filling the space with the most negative thing I can think of, fairly regularly. 

But there's a crossover into some freedom by simply giving thanks, repeating "no gain, no loss," and letting blanks be blanks.