The Void Within: The Faces of Emptiness

 

Emptiness. The emptiness of the void between worlds. The emptiness of a darkness after a great light has been extinguished. The emptiness of a heart after its true soul-kin has been lost to it and part of it has been lost therewith.

This is what some emptiness feels like; Such emptiness is cold, dark, hurtful, lonely, solitary, and depressing. This is the emptiness of always wanting to look beside you for a friend who is no longer there. This is the emptiness of knowing that the dreams you once entertained have been consumed by some Fell Beast of the Abyss, devoid of mercy, reason or compassion.

But there is another kind of emptiness. The emptiness that is left once a great fire burns out. The emptiness that brings with it the greatest stillness, without fear, expectation, intrusive thought, tension, or pain. The emptiness that is the result of the Refiner's Fire, forging you anew, burning away the unessential, the no longer possible, and the desperation that lived in chasing a phantasm of faint hope with every fiber of being. This is the emptiness that is left when the wound is cauterized, where the truth settles in - not to acceptance for some things may never reach such a state, but instead to a weighty co-existence.

Our military has a saying one man, one kit. This refers to the need for each of us to carry his own gear, all he needs, and to learn to make do with what he carries. This also refers to the fact that each man's burden is his own. His path is his own as is the load that he must carry.

My heart drives me to do things in line with its sense of values. My brain begs me to check with it first to ensure it concurs - sometimes my heart allows for this nicety, other times it will brook no dissent. But in all cases, no matter how hard the road or how tough the truth, I have known that the truth is the only thing that can liberate us and that the hard road is often the right road if one wishes to live ones values.

In this instance, I must yield the greatest wishes of the heart: to reach out, to salvage some good from the ashes of all that was and could have been, to reconnect and rebuild a trust, to have truths about my experience, my actions and my thoughts be understood, to heal the most horrible of hurts and to reach a person with whom I had a truly special, singular and transformative relationship. I must yield these because, as weak as I feel and as shaky as I am, I can do this.

The sort of friend we all should have has been blunt, caring, and has spoken with the voice of personal experience. He has explained to me the power and the scope of a traumatic past and the evoked trauma. He has explained to me that, at certain phases along the path of healing and with enough other painful matters of great necessity in play, it was more important for the afflicted soul to have their experience validated and acknowledged rather than gently nudged towards greater accordance with the full list of pertinent facts. It is necessary because of the awfulness of the evoked trauma and because acknowledging that the truth may be more than what the evoked trauma could perceive would have much in common with a further injury, which the brain, in its not so bright but powerful way, would prevent. This prevention would come at the cost of good memories repressed or, worse yet and horrifying to boot, prior good memories may actually be re-contextualized to take on a very different and dark cast, so that the brain can protect the wounded soul from further difficult experiences. And of course, any of this activity would itself come with great emotional upset and pain.

With no odds of success in my fondest wish, in the most important endeavour in my entire life, I am left with only the great likelihood of causing further harm and injury. That is not acceptable to my values nor to the great care I bear for a wounded friend, now lost to me for now and perhaps forever. It is not acceptable to the memory of what we had, which I must preserve if she cannot recall things in all of their splendour and wonder. I can do this, because to not do this - hardest of things - would be to willingly cause her hurt for a negligible chance of success.

I have never wanted to hurt her. I have hated, with the entirety of my rarely-seen incandescent, implacable anger, those who had hurt her previously. I had wept openly in impotent rage and deep empathy for her hurt. I could not knowingly hurt her, now, then or ever. For, whatever my flaws, a lack of willingness to take the harder road and face the harder truths has never been my failing.

I have my pack. I am loading the largest rocks I have ever known into it. Soon, I will be donning it and moving on. To where? I know not, I am empty. With what goal or purpose? I am unsure, except that I know I must strive to record and remember all of the good memories on the off chance that she will one day be healed enough to be reminded of them. I am also sure that I must honour her wish to have her story told, but it will be told in a format that will protect her privacy, yet still satisfy her desire to have her tale educate others about the experiences she has lived.

I am empty. But in that emptiness, there is a peace. The knots have eased a bit, the heart no longer feels so tight in the chest, the stomach no longer quivers with nausea so much, and the sense of desperate purpose is gone. Possibility opens before me. I am not yet ready to seize it with great panache, but I am ready to acknowledge that moving on is the last, best thing I can do for her; To give her her peace, her chance to heal, and hope that one day she will wish to talk and rekindle some connection. I will not pin a hope on it, for that would be putting myself on tenter's hooks. But if it ever were to transpire, I would hear her, whatever she wished to say and however hard that was to hear, with deep care, esteem and respect. I bear no anger for my fate; It was always the risk of the path we trod and it was not the action of the person I cared deeply about. My anger shall always be reserved for those who wounded her before she could defend herself. For her, I have only care, empathy, and esteem.

One last worthy note: She is the best mother I have ever met, working harder for and with her kids than any other mother I have seen and loving them more than life. She has the most positive attitude towards life, caring, compassionate, open to nuance and grey areas, and open-minded and questioning, seeking to know herself and the world with an honest heart. A soul of exceptional wonder and a singular beauty that starts at that soul and radiates. I mean this when I say she is the best human being I have ever known. When I spent time with her, I was a far better version of myself.

She is not replaceable. My great care and belief in her will never erode. I choose to hope that time will find a way to heal the wounds she has. I believe in her and know her to be worthy. I will miss her in my life like I would miss oxygen.

But I will do what is kindest, best, and least likely to cause further hurt to her. I will do this because, even if I am not strong, my care for her is that strong and will keep me on my feet and on the path despite the rocks in my pack. I will live my values, cry as I will, hurt as I must, but there will be no surrender. I will never surrender my hope for her. I will take that, as I will take our memories, with me throughout my life.

She helped me out of my darkest place while she was amidst her own. She changed my whole way of speaking to myself, of looking at the world and of believing in myself. No thanks will ever be sufficient.

Fare thee well, Arwen Evenstar. I will miss you. And I will pray, each night, for your safety, peace, and healing.

I am empty, but I am whole. I will honour your gifts. I will walk towards the Light.