Back From the Abyss

Sometimes, I think I am clearly crazy. Certainly, this last six months, I have been so far gone, I intimately understand how some women  in the first half of the last century were put into insane asylums when they hit menopause. I feel as if I lost every part of myself and surely would have acquiesced to almost anything to get myself back. I have been gone, mentally and emotionally, to a place I thought I would never be: the abyss of despair, cynicism, and a whole host of other nasty states of mind that wreak havoc with one’s soul. Thankfully, the bitch who took over is on the retreat and for some reason, this appears to me to be a miracle almost as beautiful as a visitation I had long ago that shaped my life profoundly. At that time, I was torn to pieces over a decision that would not only change my life, but would have deep repercussions throughout my family. I felt certain that I had one choice if I was to live, but I was afraid. In the midst of my malaise, I took a favorite dog companion, Luther, for a hike up one of the many hills in Oregon named “Bald Hill”. The walk was a demanding little path that shot straight up through blackberry brambles, then a sharp turn through  a young mixed forest and even sharper incline up onto a high meadow, covered in August, with tall golden grasses. The sky was as blue as wild delphiniums and there were no clouds anywhere. I stood there, at the top of my small world, head thrown back, heart broken open, begging for a sign that I was making the right decision. Luther lay close by in the shade. In one breath, the sky was full of swallows. They flew in great figure eights around me that grew smaller and smaller until I felt them, hundreds of them, brushing across the top of  my head and heard the sound of their wings whistling in the air as they brushed by me, flying down and around my face, shoulders and upper body before swooping up again. Hot tears began to roll silently down my cheeks and the wind from their wings cooled them.  My heart eased and their figure eights turned into a great whirlwind of swallows flying faster and faster as they moved in a great funnel straight  up and winked out of sight. I have always loved swallows and now, they are back, just as I am back. There is always hope. In the next post, the story of the doctor owned by the pharmaceutical industry and the small town super hero known as Greg, the pharmacist.