LET THE HEALING BEGIN

NB. Dear Readers, I owe you 2 apologies. The first is re: the announcement of the arrival of my novel: From Dusk to Dawn. The link I provided caused some confusion for readers outside the U.S.A., because it linked only to the American Amazon site. For those of you living in the UK. Canada, Europe, Australia, please visit Amazon in your country: e.g., If you are in Italy go to Amazon.it   In Britain go to Amazon.co.uk etc., type in Title of book and my name. The second apology is for not posting in nearly a month. When you read this following you will understand why and will perhaps understand why it’s taken me a week to post it!

It is said that April is the cruelest month, but for me it’s November. Ever since childhood, no matter where I’ve lived, I’ve found this penultimate month to carry an air of gloom. In England this is the month that starts of with a bang, the 5th being Guy Fawkes Day; the chap who tried to blow up the houses of parliament back in 1605. I am still not sure if we celebrate that day because of his capture or because we are secretly rejoicing in his attempt at annihilating the King and his government which, like just about all of them, everywhere then and now, tend to be seats of power not much in favor of the common citizen. In any case, the fine drizzle of an English November more often than not puts a damper on the celebrations.

Aware that November was about to have its way with me, and being on my own now for a few weeks – more on that later – I decided to go to Bonnieux and spend a week with our dear friends Paul and Sharon. Friends who I knew I could take my loneliness and fragility to and they would hold it and me; a healing for which I am eternally grateful. We walked a lot, down lanes and through vineyards, reveling in the warmth and beauty of an extended Indian summer.

And we talked and ate amazing food and laughed over an early dinner with friends in spite of the sorrow of the night before; the sorrow of Paris, where I had originally booked a flight and hotel for that very weekend, but which I cancelled at the last minute, choosing to go to my friends instead. We held the sorrow and surrounded it with love, as we all must do now.

How easy it is to believe that the world is filled with terror. For sure terror exists and always has. Really, imagine what it must have been like to be chased by some asshole in a bearskin wielding a spiked truncheon! Maybe it seems worse now because there are so many more of us and because the media reports it in never-ending loops. But we must not think like this. We must not believe that by refusing to help the millions of refugees fleeing terror that we are keeping ourselves safe. Safety is an illusion.If we do not open our arms and our doors and our hearts to the suffering then their suffering will turn them into the desperate and desperation is the enemy of life. When we are desperate the terror we feel within becomes too much and we vent on the innocent.

My dear Joel has been in New York for more than three weeks working 6 grueling days a week, going through 40,000 photographs in his archive in order to choose and sign the ones of highest quality in order to hand them over to the buyer some time next month. Joel, known word-wide for his exquisite timing with a camera does not have the same gift with the clock; what he thought would take 3 weeks will more likely be 7. So we are almost at the halfway mark and I miss him terribly.

In our early years together one or the other of us would sometimes go off alone on a trip…Joel on a shoot and I on a writing retreat, usually in Cornwall. I used to enjoy these times apart; loved feeling my independence and solitude. And of course there was always the sexy thrill of reuniting. But now, as the tape measure begins to reach its end, these separations are painful, partly because we have become a comfy old pair of slippers and partly because at our age the scent of death wafts through every day. While absence may make the heart grow fonder, it also aches with the knowledge that one day one of us will live out the rest of life alone.

And I tell you, there is nothing like being alone in the wilderness of a foreign country to take the shine right off the honeymoon phase of, well, living in the wilderness of a foreign country. As a writer I have come to know solitude and to embrace its silence. It is a necessary state of being for all artists. But loneliness is something else and can be felt anywhere, even in the midst of a bustling city. Experiencing it in a foreign language, in a place where we have only two close friends…who speak no English, gives one pause to think.

The problem with thoughts, if not shared, is that they become beliefs and it is to that dangerous place I returned this week; thinking, then believing, that I’ve made a terrible mistake; thinking and then believing that I am more fragile than I want to be; thinking then believing that after nearly 3 years in Europe we are now no longer important to the family and friends we left behind. And perhaps the lowest point happened this week when my novel finally made it to the finishing line.

I was upstairs in the studio Joel and I share. I clicked on Amazon, entered the title of my book and there it was!!!!! After 25 years of trying to get published, there was my book! Out of habit, I turned to Joel’s desk, feeling the surge of joy, about to jump up and down with him in celebration…but he wasn’t there. I kept looking around for someone to celebrate with, but I was a single parent and suddenly the arrival of my baby seemed meaningless.

Today I found myself voicing these negative thoughts out loud and as horrifying as it is to hear them, it’s also that essential; only when we literally hear ourselves think do we have the possibility of choosing between believing our thoughts and realizing that many of them are misconceptions. So, have I really made a mistake choosing to live here? No. Most of the time I love it. But as the saying goes: wherever you go there you are. And wherever we go life brings equal amounts of joy and pain. Am I really more fragile than I like to think I am? Sometimes, yes. Always? No. Are we less important to our family and friends? Perhaps to some, and understandably so.

What’s really wrong with my thinking is that I think I have to bully my way through the tough times, when in fact, unlike the refugees I am privileged to have choices. Tomorrow I will try to swap loneliness for solitude, but if the gloom of November descends then I will take myself off to Florence for a few days of culture and friends.

So that when Thanksgiving Day arrives in America, I will be giving thanks in Italy: for my life, my Joel, my family and friends, for the beauty that still outshines terror, and for all of you, my lovely, loyal readers.

29 Nov. 2015

N.B. As it turned out, a day after I wrote this I received the results of my blood tests and found out that I have a food intolerance and a severely compromise immune system. I am now on a restricted diet for 2 months, plus probiotics and will soon receive the first of a series of vaccines

Today is the first day in weeks that I have felt like myself. I tell you this because I think it is important to share that the kind of depression I have experienced on and off for the last few months is one of the side-effects of inflammation. In the course of talking with the doctor and the nutritionist I learned a lot, including the medical fact that inflammation in the intestines also inflames the brain. It also causes joint pain, skin conditions, leg cramps and diarrhea…all of which I have been experiencing.

One could say that this is a chicken and the egg type of situation: did stress cause the intolerance and inflammation or vice versa? It’s very easy for some of us to blame ourselves for illness, but this not only is a waste of time, it goes against the healing process. It’s no use toughing it out and saying, oh, I should have done this, or I should have been stronger or if I hadn’t done such and such this would never have happened. A medical condition is a medical condition and needs to be treated. The psychology of the event can be indulged once the brain is no longer inflamed.

I share this because maybe one of you is feeling depressed and feels guilty about it,especially if, like me, you have a good life, and feel you have no reason or right to be depressed. Maybe it’s worth taking a blood test?

Okay, end of pep talk….time to order that book from Amazon in your country…please! From Dawn to Dusk, Maggie Barrett