“I went inside my heart to see how it was.
Something there makes me hear the whole world weeping.”
- Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks
Some days, for no discernible reason, I feel like weeping. Uncontrollably. It’s a curious phenomenon and I look at this feeling in me with curiousness.
Is it because of the past? “Well, that’s in the past, Gigi,” I tell myself gently. “No need to go there anymore. That shit’s happened. Over. Finito.”
Is it the present? “In the present you are happy, are you not? Gigi? Are you not happy?” Yes, I am. I know it.
What it is and where it comes from, I do not know. I do know that over these past months it doesn’t come often, this feeling, and when it does come, it does not tarry. Which is good.
And I, I neither repress the feeling nor avoid it, but I don’t cry. I never cry. The feeling I allow, acting on it I don’t. It could be because the sadness has an all-encompassing quality about it, and I don’t want to spend time and expend energy weeping uncontrollably and without surcease.
I’ve had this happen before, seven years ago, when I had occasion to experience a harrowing delayed reaction from my visit and journey back from Australia into the middle of Wyoming’s long and deep and dark winter season. Alone, isolated, abandoned, attacked on all fronts of love, I relaxed into a slow unraveling. To date, it holds pole position as the worst time in my life.
This current feeling is not singular. Not the byproduct of any event or person or series, thereof. The intensity isn’t there either, the sharpness. And the implosive bone-crushing quality. But the overwhelming nature of it, yes, that’s there. It’s curious.
From whence does it emanate? And why? And since it is less and less frequent, does that mean eventually it will not come at all?