A bit over six years ago, I experienced the tragedy of being a newlywed widow from suicide. As part of my healing I created a collage:
I
chose a door that my husband had punched when he was frustrated at the
beginning of our relationship. We had discussed how it wasn't a healthy
way to respond to anger, fear, whatever... and he did not want to be
like that. Little did I know what it foretold as he reacted to us
having an argument about him smoking cigarettes by shooting himself. Of
course, I could expound upon all of this at length, but this is not the
time.
The
point is that the door was the perfect foundation for this creation -
this endeavor that I hoped would help me move forward. I started by
painting the door black. Black seemed to be my life; I had found the
bottom of the pit and it was pitch. While I painted the door black, I
felt I was painting my darkness onto the door, my fear, my guilt, my
anger,... In the process I wailed and so much came out of me as it
moved through the brush. In the end I was left limp, tear-soaked, and
laughing. It was a strange laugh, a heavy-hearted laugh, but one that
nevertheless came from light and was freeing. The darkness had moved
from me and was gone - at least for the time being. As I sat piled onto
the floor looking up with tears still falling from my face, I saw too
that the door was crying - black tears...they streamed down from where
he had punched it.
I
continued to work on this collage for about a year, sometimes working
on it regularly, other times not. It was one of the things I did, along
with being in nature, that I did when I did not know what to do with
myself. I chose to paint the area where he had punched the door - red.
This area represented the gunshot, the explosion that rocked our world
in an irreversible way, the blood that I watched pour from his head onto
our bed.
I then decided that I wanted the entire collage to be covered with the word "words" because ultimately I had no words - none that could fully express what I had experienced or what I was experiencing. "Words, words, nothing but fucking words" was something that ran through my mind at the time.
I decided to stay present with the pain and not attempt to escape from what was happening with me, however difficult and horrid it was. I knew that if I did not move through it, literally through it, I would never get through it and I could not live with this immensity lingering like a demon wrapped around my back. I had to turn and stand to face it, face whatever it had for me. So I said to pain "bring it on." And she did.
Pain is a mighty teacher. The depths of grief, despair, and pain have much for us. I will never be the same again of course; I lack the innocence I once had. But I also experience the Light now in a way that is greater, more profound than I had known. Experiencing one extreme opens us up to the opposite extreme in equal measure - a gift within tragedy.
I also added some words to the collage that were a vain attempt at labeling, expressing, and describing:
Ephemeral
Emotion
Logic
Reason
Fair
Temperance
Grace
Benevolence
Angst
Torment
Stonewall
Profundity
Vigilance
Melancholy
Fated
Destiny
Muse
Dynamism
Love
Trust
Anger
Addiction
Struggle
Remorse
Control
Heritage
Abstinence
Moderation
Strength
Beauty
Ego
Spirit
Baby
Loaded
Fear
Defense
Open
Destruction
Salvation
Longing
Rebel
Need
Truth
Apart
Desperation
Hope
Eyes
Freedom
Life
Death
Birth
Safety
Growth
Surrender
Time
Faith
Latency
Catharsis
Consecration
Journey
Ultimatum
Betrayal
Tenacity
Trigger
Extremes
Whirlwind
Kindness
Decide
Choice
Change
Reaction
Loss
Conflict
Fancy
Reciprocity
Gratitude
Accident
Snap
Miscommunication
Armed Peace
Anchored
Commitment
Grasp
Judgment
Hope
Hidden
Soulmate
Shame
Doubt
Leaping
Promises
Promises
Lost
Why?!
Wounds
Wombs
Worms
Sword
Worlds
 |
| The Owl represents Rebirth in Native American teachings. |
The process of collaging was/is incredibly healing. I was able to be present with what was occurring in my grief process and by representing it, I gave it a voice. I put it into expression and it was freeing for me. It gave me something to do with all the feelings and thoughts I had inside me that I wasn't sure what to do with. Feelings and thoughts that couldn't exactly be put into words.
One part of the collage felt like I was freeing my late husband. We used to do a lot of motorcycle riding together with me on the back of his bike. He wore a white helmet and his hair would fly back from it out to the sides. I always felt his hair looked like wings. I had a picture of this that I took while riding down the road on the back of his bike. I took this picture and put it on the collage, then I painted his helmet to look like the moon and his hair to look like clouds. I felt I was releasing him, freeing him to continue on his eternal ride.
Once completed, I had this collage in my home for a couple years and it was a "comforting" (if that word can be used at a time like that) presence representing my process that I indeed was getting through. Then it came to me that it was time to let go even of that, to move on from my initial stages of grief to where I was at present. I was going to BurningMan later that summer, so I decided to take it with me to the Temple Burn, the burn that occurs on the day after the man burns, a more spiritual and brilliantly solemn burn in comparison to the man burning which is more celebratory. Essentially this collage became an effigy of my experience the prior few years - the marriage, the suicide, the grief, the healing.
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| The collage inside the Temple. |
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| The Temple up close. |
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| The Temple from afar. |
Here is the Temple burning. Check out the dust devils coming off it!
The process of carrying the door across the desert in the August heat to the Temple was also incredibly healing for me. It was a sort of trial in itself with the wind hitting the face of it forcing me to grip it tight against me and the heat and dust making each step noticeable. I felt I was carrying something that was heavy beyond weight and when I dropped it off and walked away from it, I felt more than that door leave my shoulders. When it burned, it marked a transition in my healing process that has led me to this day. This day where I feel that this tragedy is part of my past and not part of my present. Something I have worked through.
And now I find myself blessed again to be with a man I want to spend my life with. We are getting married next month. This I feel is the last of my grieving process: learning how to trust again in a deep committed relationship, keeping my heart open when the "protective" part of me tells me to run from this danger, continuing to move toward a place fully of gratitude for what my late husband and I shared, and, as before, being willing to be with the pain that comes up. When this first happened, the pain was where I resided. Now, since I was willing to be with it and allow it to come, the pain has left and it stays away for longer and longer periods of time before returning.
Now the pain comes up more as a memory of the past than as an actuality caused by the present. But it is a deep, pervasive pain, something I hope to never experience the likes of again, and it is Love and marriage that is reminding me of it. Going forward is scary but I am like a moth to flame - willing to burn away in the light. I refuse to let this defeat me and turn my heart to stone or to give up before the battle for my heart is fully won. I am building new pathways, new associations that are whole and healthy, and moving into my future present...
~ ~ ~
I
work with people in my home studio or through skype on an individual
basis using mixed media collage and/or effigy burning as a tool to heal
through crisis. It does not need to be the loss of a loved one, it can
be any traumatic event you need assistance with.
I will guide you through the process.
Inquire if interested; sliding scale hourly fee.
YOU CAN HEAL.
~ ~ ~
Here is a video of the Temple burning:
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