Tragically Hip

I stood mesmerized for two and a half hours at the Tragically Hip show last night. Just one of over 20,000 people, leaning over the edge of my front row balcony seat, swaying.

Like many Canadians, I have been somewhat obsessed with Gord Downie's tragic diagnosis of terminal brain cancer, and his radiant light through this tour. It's as if he exposes us to the core of being alive, and while we can't touch it, we reach...so close, so far...ever closer in the yearning.

In the epic "Ahead By A Century," Gord Downie
sings about "illusions of one day casting a golden light." Last night he cast that light, and we were held in it. The power of the twinkling in the stadium was all the more immense against closeness of the dark.

When one is struggling with depression, the veil can lift in moments like this. We can come alive in the places we felt dead. We can twinkle. But we must hold ourselves gently, because these moments are not in fact antidotes to our darkness. They are treasured, powerful moments for potential awakening, but they must be supported by a fuller, more persistent process of healing too. We must be patient. We must be present.

At the end of the concert, singing Grace Too, Gord Downie screamed, "Now!" again and again. "Now! Now! NOW!"

Not "No," but "Now."

That scream is still reverberating inside me.
I am grateful.

*Photo courtesy of Ari Kaplan

Sky

Well it's been three days and the sky still seems to be holding up. The Globe and Mail suggests that some major world events are converging on catastrophe, but still the sky stays up for now. I float heavily through the days, not looking up much, but when I do the sky is still there.

In front of me is a grey, gauzy veil. Things look mostly like the darker, broken parts of themselves. If you have ever faced depression, you know this experience. One can no longer see what is, particularly as it relates to personal perspective.

I am sane. I can work. I can help others. But, I am loathe to help myself. It will shift eventually, but to endeavour to describe what it is now seems a meaningful human effort.

In front of me, but largely beyond my reach, is so much love. Love outward, love inward. My daughters' delicious silliness and seriousness both. My partner's abiding. My father's abiding—the longest history of all. I know. I see. I have gratitude. Just my armour is thick, limits my permeability.

I walk on. I do not settle into the dangerous non-space of self-pity (though I do have my moments). But while depression can be a comforting cocoon, it is also a steely stuckness. The thing is to keep looking up from time to time, to note the sunshine, even if I can't feel it.