It always starts out so innocently. Thinking of a loved one and wanting to wish them well and no sooner than this thought emerges, the next is floating on it’s tail; are they alright? What can I do to support them even as I’m in another physical location? And on and on it goes. Time passes and something knocks me out of the worry reverie and I think, “Oh….”
It’s the concern of care syndrome. Wonder, thought, image, feeling, physical discomfort and nausea. The physical form responding in kind.
Then I forgive myself for “caring too much”. Because, well, what good has it done? (how can I know this?) What if it is my job/my turn/my choice, in this lifetime to take on the pain of another? Who’s to tell me otherwise? Can I love myself exactly where I’m at? Can I love the other no matter the outer circumstances and however they may look? Perhaps this is exactly what I’m needing. Why? Because this is what’s happening.
When the pain is so strong and it entices me to reach out to them, this is when I try not to, because then it feels like I’m seeking some kind of relief instead of allowing the entire experience to unfold to its natural conclusion. What if the anxiety and suffering being experienced has allowed the other to have moments or an entire field of joy? Perhaps the nausea and anxiety were invitations; that if accepted, gave another type of gift for the other? No martyrdom, or cross to bear. Simply out of an honor to support. Not a duty nor an ego booster, but an action, free and clear of any emotional, psychic, or spiritual attachment.
“Time projects onto the screen, whereas its dissipation is a kind of luminosity without images of any kind, this salutary gleam on feathers.
I feel joy, but it is relative.”
From, “For the Roses”, Karmic Trace 4.