Scary stuff, tragedies, ancient wounds, current anxieties, worries and despair, etc. They haunt an individual as she lies awake at night. To escape these Boogie Men, people create their own personal Ambiens.
My own boogie men (feeling like I have to struggle to assert my right to exist on the planet because I'm fundamentally Unlovable and Not Good Enough) have been calmed by Romantic Fantasy. Specifically, I have a pattern of becoming involved with emotionally unavailable men in the search for a corrective experience. The concept, which until recently was pretty unconscious, was that if I could have an emotional impact on a dunderhead (short hand for self-absorbed, ego driven individual with no capacity for empathy) then I was finally strong enough in and of myself to overcome troubles in the past. If the Dunderhead of the moment would just Love me, then I would be Healed.
Since the Dunderhead was incapable of loving me for whatever his personal reason, I would never be healed. Doomed to repeat the pattern as surely as Sisyphus. Everyone knows that kind of strength and healing come from within - but there's something compelling about the exterior cure.
As previously mentioned, recent developments have empowered me to snuggle under my covers and relax without resorting to Romantic Fantasies about Dunderheads and exterior cures.
I'm pondering Romantic Fantasy as Ambien since it looks like something may develop with the Artist from the South of France. Most likely temporary since I'm determined to move back to Texas, but you never know how life will play out. Also most likely temporary since he's been married three times. Passionate, impulsive fellow, apparently, but I'm not so worried about that. I could use some impulsive passion these days, especially from someone who tells me I'm an amazing woman and virtually serenades me with his own compositions.
He sent me links to music he's written and uploaded onto the internet. It's lovely Electronica/Lounge Music which I've never listened to before, but that works for me because I kind of like the idea of a dalliance with someone who grew up in a tiny village between the Mediterranean and the Pyrenees, went to university in Paris, spent years as a painter in San Francisco and Venice, CA and then moved to New York - and still ponders the human soul.
As I drift off to sleep these days, not a bit afraid in the dark, I'm not dreaming of him. I'm thinking about my own self and what I want to accomplish this year. Even though I'm not Jewish, Rosh Hashanah has always seemed like New Year for me. First of all, the academic year has governed my world for my whole life. Then there is the Celtic element that starts counting the new year at Samhain (this year on Nov 7, I think).
One of my favorite traditions associated with Rosh Hashanah is Tashlich. It's when you toss bread crumbs into a river to symbolize your sins being carried away. I first adapted this tradition for my own purposes when my little family was staying in the Rebbe Mohammed McCrory's apartment because our apartment had burned up when the dish washer spontaneously combusted. We had already lived in a hotel for ten weeks while we were waiting and waiting for new windows. We were fixing to wait some more when the Rebbe went out of town for a month. We stayed at her place while she was gone then moved back into the hotel for more waiting. As soon as the windows were finally installed six weeks later, we moved home, but we couldn't afford to finish the kitchen for a couple more months during which the refrigerator was in the living room, we had no stove, and I washed dishes in the bathtub. As it happened, this episode was the beginning of the end of my marriage to Buzz Kill. But that's another story.
The pertinent point today is that the Rebbe has always been into Tashlich. I never went with her congregation down to the river, but I did start tossing pizza crumbs out the window that year and declaring myself free of the wish for The Ideal Mother. My own mom is okay - even if she is a castrating, double barrelled bitch. Some may find her intimidating, but every now and then, we should all be able to call upon that kind of strength.
This year, Tashlich falls on September 30. I'm not sure what I'll be tossing away this year - although I'll be making a vow to never ever be someone's Narcissistic Supply Source again. I understand what drove me to it: the culmination of me trying to have an impact on emotionally impervious people. Now I just have to find the phrase to whisper while the crumbs fly off on the night wind from my terrace. Being in tune with the Goddess, myself, I'll take the new moon on the 29th as an opportunity recognize and be grateful for the lesson learned - then bless it, release it and move on.