I have been thinking a lot about my tears. There have been many. The other night at the theater... my my my! It seems to me that I cry when I do not want to let go and I cry when I finally do.
My beloved asked me what are my favorite moments on film.
For me they are always moments of connection and they are also moments of transformation. I could list endless scenes here. It would be a catalog of film history which would make ANYONE cry!!!
Let me tell you about my grandfather.
I knew him better than anyone else on the planet. Every modulation in his voice. Every look in his eyes.
When I was only 20, I lived overseas and he used to send me cassette tapes in the form of letters. As soon as he would say, "Just a minute, just a minute." I knew that what he was actually doing was that he was reaching for his handkerchief. That, as he was speaking, his eyes were welling up with tears, his heart was swelling with emotion and he needed to blow his nose.
For me, this was how my grandfather loved. Through his tears.
My grandfather left his body 21 years ago, and I am so much like my him, it is disarming.
Recently, I believe that my tears were deeply misunderstood. I was asked the question "What is in the way of your dream?" And I began to cry. Those tears were the grief of feeling into the reality of knowing there is a real obstacle between where I am now and the manifestation of the dream I wrote down about the healthy body I wish to have, as I am about to embark on another surgery. I know myself well enough to know that I cannot get to step 2 without walking through step 1. For instance, if step 2 is surrender and acceptance around this present physical reality, I must feel what there is to feel (step 1) before arriving there. I am NOT a step-skipper!!! The reflection I was given was that my tears were a cry for attention. I listened carefully. Even made a phone call to god and discussed it... Conclusion: it just didn't land as true. I will sit in silence to try on clothes to see if they are the right fit... sit and sit to see if something may be real which I don't want to believe could possibly be, but this was simply pulling me off my own trajectory of truth.
As I sat and watched Tracie Bennett perform at the Belasco Theatre performing her heart out a few nights ago, I cried my eyes out. I was utterly blown away by the level of truth she touched upon. Universal truth. Personal truth she must have dug into (from her own life and inner work) to call forth and hail forward with power and presence few have the privilege of seeing on stage in real time. How fiercely committed she was to showing up for this role. Her sheer and utter talent. The humanity she found in her portrayal of the legend who was Judy Garland. Those tears were also love. My love of the experience which swells up inside of me and is simply part of my heartbeat. A love which I can speak about for days. Years. Lifetimes. Love.
Like how I feel when I watch Wimbledon. To watch a champion give it everything. Watching the Olympics last week was stunning and moving to me in every way. I cried when I saw Granada's Karani James (who won the men's running 400 semi-finals) exchange Name bibs with South Africa's Oscar Pistorious, the FIRST double-amputee to EVER compete in the Olympic Games. It was simply beautiful.
It connected me to my own heart and tears streamed down my face.
Some of the greatest photographs do this for us. Like when two people are connected after one has just come back from war. Those moments of connection call out to us all and call us all forth and call us all back.
I have changed in terms of my tears in many ways. I no longer STAY there. No longer indulge them. I feel dignified. I never feel ashamed of them. I can feel safe inside of myself regardless of who is around me. They are mine to own. I know what is happening and I am okay with it.
I'm Jill Bacharach, and I have deep feelings which I am deeply in touch with.
As for you, I will meet you wherever you are. Just as long as you tell me where that is.
Blessings.
8.18.12
Jill Bacharach
No comments:
Post a Comment