Depression is an irresistible falling, not down a slippery slope but down the gravity well of a black hole. There is always an episode at Christmas.
Who can say when and why this started? When my father let slip that he had contempt for what I, a child, wanted? (He wasn’t a monster; he held everything in contempt, himself most of all.) My parents were — unfairly — unloved and never mastered the skill. They writhed when they were forced into the performative joy of the season.
Black on Grey was completed just before Rothko died. It might have been his suicide note, but it is not mine.
Silent dark binds me irrevocably to the church; there is always an empty pew where I can reorient. The gravity well has no bottom, yet it has radiant energy, an imperishable joy. I learned, and my parents did not, that there is always love.
There’s no escape when you’ve touched the black hole’s event horizon. But you can convert.
Thank you for sharing the light of your faith. Here’s a reflection that made me think of your work. Merry Christmas!!
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“A candle loses none of its own light when it lights another candle. It’s a great description of what happens to us when we extend ourselves to one another. Yes, we are at times fearful that we will lose something of ourselves when we give ourselves—our time, our attention, our talent, or our treasure to someone else. But we lose nothing. We are, in fact, more our true selves. That deep inner peace and joy within us is the light we never lose when we love and extend ourselves to another person.”
Merry Christmas! I love the honesty in your messages.