Having come to the hopefully, middle of my life, the question of How to Live? has never loomed larger. In fact, it has bubbled up from within me this 47th year of my life not as a whisper or a nudge, but as a volcano/tsunami/earthquake/tumbling end-over-end-in-deep-space-without-the-astronaut-rope-to-the-mother-ship, that has left me feeling deeply disoriented, spiritually bankrupt, and quite frankly, in an anguishing pain.
A life-long hater of all things cigarettes, I actually bought a pack one day recently, thinking I should take up smoking. I have nearly gone insane from emotional pain in the last 10 months with the last 3 months being particularly horrendous. And I mean literally insane.
I have spent roughly the last 30 years working on myself. In that time, through hard work, a variety of therapies and spiritual work, I gratefully managed to have broken the cycle of violence, addiction and aggression in myself that is my family tree. And yet here I am, wondering if there is any Thing or One or Power out there in the universe who cares personally about my life and my existence.
I have developed an intimate relationship with Despair this year. I believe this is what the philosophers officially call an Existential Crisis.
Other people would probably just say I need to buck up, get over it, forget the recent past, and move on. And maybe I do need to do all those things. But telling someone who is grieving, lost, desperate, emptied out of things they knew, is like telling a pig to fly. Sometimes, the spiritual practice we have cultivated or had for many years ceases to be effective. We find ourselves simply unable to go on the way we have been. We crave comfort for the blows we have received. We want respite from the torture of heart and mind. We crave wholeness. We wish we could laugh like we did in the old days.
I know enough not to strike out to try and make myself feel better. Staying still and quiet can sometimes feel like you are turning an ocean liner on a dime. It is a Herculean effort and one that awakens me each night at 3.30 am. I often feel I can find no way out of the emptiness and betrayal and injustice of it all.
What I am describing is the lesson I am learning at mid-life which is how to accept life on life’s terms. To surrender to the way things have gone, which is not to say I agree or like them, or think some people have treated me decently, but rather to say, the question of How to Live? begins with surrender and acceptance. These are not easy things for me. I kick and scream and cry and wail. I feel as if I will die.
There are things going on in my life right now that I have no idea how to accept. They are too big, too unfair, too upsetting. They turn my stomach to acid and upset me so much I usually make a sound out loud.
I’d like to share with you one of two things I have discovered as a way through the process of grief, loss, being emptied out, disoriented, betrayal, being lied too, humiliated…. whatever your particular heart pain is, and toward acceptance and serenity (the other one is for another post another time!).
You are either holding it in your hand, on your lap, or staring into it right now. It is your camera phone and your computer.
Bet you didn’t expect that right?!
Well, neither did I.
Here’s what I have found: Our refuge lies in our ability to express ourselves and in our ability to lose ourselves in the world around us.
Every day now, I go out into the world with my iPhone and look at people and light and the environment. I have found that walking is one of the only things that soothes my pain. So I have been walking all over NYC taking pictures. Sometimes I am out there for hours and hours. Well, actually, I am usually out there for hours and hours! (I recently had to get a bigger external hard drive to store all my photos) I don’t know if it’s because I am getting older, or just my particular state these days, but the quality of light has been indescribably beautiful to me at certain times of day.
When I take photos with my iPhone, I am absorbed into the act of looking and seeing and therefore forget about my pain and myself. It is the most magical occurrence. I lose track of time and feel a reprieve unlike any I have known. The world goes on even though I often feel I cannot. The human condition is right there in front of me. The colors and gestures and surprises that catch my eye deliver me. My perspective is literally changed—it’s expanded, softened, and moves into a sort of hope. Which is another way to say I have received a little bit of acceptance and serenity from my camera and the act of looking.
As I write this, it has been 10 days since I had to put the love of my life, my 14-year-old dog, Rumi, down. She had been failing in health for a couple months and when her quality of life crossed a certain threshold, I didn’t want her to feel one more ounce of suffering. She was put down at home, I held her in my arms, and she was surrounded by four exceptional, gentle, women who cried along with me and helped me function afterwards. I have been deeply affected by her death, and had to leave my apartment in the days after, her absence was so enormous and felt like the last straw in a string of deep losses.
It’s sometimes the right thing to get on a plane and fly to the sun and beach, which is what I did.
The reason I tell you this about my sweet dog, is because the day after she died, I woke up and went to get her food out of the fridge like I have for all those years and realized she wasn’t here anymore and that I would never be able to see her or kiss her or hold her again. I had no idea how to manage my feelings. I was choking I was crying so hard—and then I heard this voice inside that said, Write to her.
So, being the Moleskine hoarder that I am, I walked over to my desk and opened a brand new one and began in my favorite black marker, Dear Rumi, I miss you so much… It’s been years since I hand wrote in a journal, but I have written to her every day since she left and I feel so close to her. My point here is not the Moleskine. My point is the writing. The pouring out of feelings to someone you think will listen and who loves you so much and never wants you to hurt. We simply cannot bear these things alone.
We are never lost to ourselves when we take refuge in our creative expression. There is deep comfort to be felt there.
All this is to say, I hope you will join Tracey Clark and I for our month-long photography course, Two Takes which is about using photography to support, sustain, and comfort you in your life.
Which, for me, is another way to say, How to Live?
Images and words from photographer and writer Bindu Wiles. You can find more about Bindu on her blog or find her on Instagram @binduwiles.
Share with us today the image(s) in which you have found refuge and you'll be entered to win a random drawing for a complementary registration for Two Takes. Leave your comment by midnight EST 3/8. The winner will be announced on Friday 3/9.
Monday, April 23, 2012 by 
