Retreating

(in response to Retreating Wind, a poem by Louise Gluck)

Walking backwards. Looking at a picture from afar. My family. Moving away, to gain perspective. Up close, too enmeshed. Too many feelings and not enough thoughts, words, clarity. Retreating. Does this word have a bad reputation? Ideas of surrendering, of defeat come to mind, the failure of not going forward. But retreating does not necessarily entail surrender or defeat. It’s a re-grouping. Perhaps I am in retreat in my life. A pulling back from how things have been; seeking a new grouping of myself. I like this configuration, rather than the sense of failure and defeat I berate myself with on a regular basis. And people “go on retreat” – both moving forward and back at the same time? Retreat inwards away from the external to the internal. This sense of movement appeals. Waves move in and retreat, pulled back by unseen force, propelled also – back and forth, horse champing at the bit, reined in. All that energy, power, force held back. And with what immense effort. So exhausting to rein myself in, to root myself down. To deny the soar in me. Chronic fatigue, no wonder. I don’t know what it would be like to loose the reins. I don’t know what I am holding in, holding back, specifically, just a sense I am. Once I ran towards life with innocence, trust, naivety. And it is right that I have greater circumspections; some restraint or caution. But there must be a longer line. There must still be trust. Trust. Trust the words I am writing, the line I am going down. Lines leading somewhere or tethers to claw one’s way back to centre along? Long leash. What do you call it when they train a horse on a long lead, there’s a particular word. Does it matter? The point is finding that optimal balance between freedom and feeling held, anchored in some way to something solid.

It's what I do instinctively when the wind changes, when it raises and blows away the stillness of my everyday life.

It's a leftover from a previous life, when sharing my thoughts and feelings didn't seem right, when there wasn't a place of comfort, no talking around the table, no "are you ok?"

I retreat, inside myself, in silence, away from the world, away from what hurts. In my fortress. Not the safe place it should be, but I still go. As time moves on it feels less and less natural, but old habits die hard, so off I go, again and again. Cutting myself off.

Yesterday was a day for retreating. I walked away from the funeral and bolted myself in. "How are you?" he asked, but all I said was "ok". Not what I thought, not all the words I had accumulated from the cemetery to the front door. Those were not spoken. Until now.

I am sad. I am grieving. But how can I be grieving for someone I knew so little? How can a far away life means so much when others, much closer, have so little importance? Why am I thinking about this so much? It is because it reminds of mortality? Is it because I am powerless in the face of death? Is it because I can't stop absorbing other people's stories and their sadness?

The sun is shining today but there's a gaping dark hole somewhere out there, filled with earth, flesh, tears, prayers and unfinished dreams.

Retreating into the places that hold me up, the place that holds it all together. Like standing upright in a tightly enclosed cupboard, the air becomes thin & limbs can begin to ache with lack of movement. When our wings are clipped we can misplace the key to the dressing up box, the chosen door of playfulness shuts behind us if we don’t stay vigilant. We all balance a sense of retreat with a tendency to step forward, into light & power & back again into the shadows : a positional mix tape : a revolving door, an improvised recipe of characteristics. “I want you to see this bit of me now…” shifts to “ This part of me is too painful for me too parade before you right now…or perhaps I can & will show you a little, but only when I’ve spent more time with it…”. And sometimes it is a TREAT to re-treat! Loners make the best watchers & sometimes the loner just feels too much, too deeply & needs to back away from the town square, the stage where it all goes down, to wash the tyre marks away & hose it all new , ready to face the crowds fresh & start another day.

The one place I try not to retreat from, is my mind.

Come back. Reacquaint yourself with you.

Hello joy, hello pain, hello reality.

Bask in your kingdom.

Build a new home, plant your garden. Invite the world in.

Sing and dance, and don't stop.

Be anything you care to be.

Hold on as the ride spins you around

and breathe.

Breathe deeply. Feel the air, fill your lungs with life.

Your life.