Retreat
Sunset in Astoria, Oregon
Retreat (v.): To step back, or be forced back. To withdraw.
Retreat (n.): A place or time set aside for reflection and focus.
It's been four months since Dad died.
The opaque darkness which had enveloped me now has faint contours.
When I was a kid, my parents and I watched a lot of nature shows. National Geographic, Wild Kingdom, Nova, Jacques Cousteau. I remember one program in particular, about the deep ocean. Scientists wanted to see what lived in the depths of the ocean trenches. To get there they had to descend in a tiny submarine designed to withstand the immense pressure.
Down, down they sank into the frigid darkness where no sunlight penetrated and the pressure could crush skulls. What could possibly survive in such an environment? A wondrous array of creatures, it turns out. Bioluminescent jellies, glowing octopuses, grotesque fish with eyeballs visible in transparent heads.
The scientists collected some of these creatures in pressurized containers for study, but when brought up to the surface, the lack of pressure caused the animals' delicate bodies to fly apart.
I'm taking a summer break from co-hosting Edit Your Life to care for my mom, my family, and myself.
I need to go deep enough to observe what might otherwise fly apart if hauled to the blinding, turbulent surface.
My eyes need time to adjust, and I must trust them to see.
Retreat is prelude to surrender, and what is surrender, if not trust?
