English poet and philosopher David Whyte was once called on to give a friend some advice. This friend was in the middle of leaving a relationship. I’ve been there – in the position of counsel. Mostly it takes me straight back, like riding down a razor blade, to the times I’ve had to leave love myself. I don’t know that anything is harder.
There’s this: We think we are not just losing that person, but the part of ourselves that loved.
And this: We share dreams with this other person and we pivot our very selves on those dreams. When we leave love, we have to now give these dreams up too. Is there anything left? Is there a stable pivot point anymore? The last time I was in this space, I know I honestly felt that the ground had fallen out from beneath me and that I was left with nothing but thin air to try and tread through. Like a nightmare.
And also this: It all seems so arduous to start up again with our own dreams. Doesn’t it? Where to start from when your platform is a nightmare-like abyss of thin air?
Whyte wrote a poem for his mate that sums some of this up. I find it funny that previously my Poem of Comfort