Deep in my bones, under a calm river of white marrow, is where I have buried all the things that were once crushed and broken and without hope.
It was defiance and not denial that led me to the tender mercy of acceptance. Throwing in the towel may signal the end of a fight, but it’s not necessarily a loss. Dismantle the rings and ropes, and there are only people – flawed, scared, screwed-up, compassionate, empathetic, striving — full of love both spent and saved because it’s the only currency that really matters and we all know it, even the misers.
When the crushed things come to the surface, I gently tamp them back down with the faltering kind of grace one might show an adversary who is not despised, but merely unwanted or in the way. I have learned that when the crushed things are allowed to rise, they mire the soul in all things reminiscent of themselves. One broken thing becomes attached to all that was ever broken — a sorrowful chain that eclipses the sun and chokes even the smallest of mercies.
The sun has always been difficult for me to find in Minnesota. I once tried to write a story about just the two years I spent on the North Shore, but it was too true to be believable, even if written as fiction. As a whole, it was absurdly fantastical – too full of unlikely characters and too empty of reason. A sixteen year-old waitress living with a 40 year old restaurant owner; a daughter who stole from her mother’s business and then ended up owning it; a neglectful teenage mother who said she’d rather get pregnant again than get a birth control shot; a man who rented out his foreclosed house; a white collar bank criminal who ran for mayor; a 20 year-old toothless cook named Goosie; a violent woman who preached an unforgiving gospel of Jesus. There was so much more – a suspicious fire, a Jack Daniels-soaked psychic, a self-hating artist obsessed with Superman – and that was only two out of my fifteen Minnesota years.
The problem with true stories is that they do not reside solely in the imagination. They are not separate from any other substance that makes up experience. The emotional consequences of proximity to painful or nonsensical things are real. When they are too real, too full of discord, and too ugly to invite into every day life, they are joined to other things that reside under the marrow.
People we no longer see, and places we no longer live, leave visceral impressions and marks on our psyches that distance, and even heightened understanding, cannot erase. Writing does not always shed light into the dark corners. Sometimes the corners stay dark because there are no good reasons for them, and no profound lessons to be drawn from them. They are, if not evil, simply bleak, sad, and without hope.
Two years. Fifteen. Forty-seven. Joined, not separate.
On a snow-covered farm in Chaska, the dogs are barking outside, their breath visible in the frosty air. Winter birds are hovering around feeders hanging from barren trees, and I am tamping down the crushed things, old and new, under a river of marrow that wants nothing more – and seeks nothing less – than to flow underneath the sunlight. My grace falters, but my desire does not. One day, the truest stories I know will not be the most difficult to tell.
Meet Lucy. She's a 2010 
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My favorite line: ” I have learned that when the crushed things are allowed to rise, they mire the soul in all things reminiscent of themselves. One broken thing becomes attached to all that was ever broken — a sorrowful chain that eclipses the sun and chokes even the smallest of mercies. ”
To me, it doesn’t matter if we consider ourselves spiritual or not, or even a New-Ager or not … some truths simply are what they are, and only appear different in the context of telling.
Beautiful and poignant post. So happy I stopped in.
D~
Donna L. Faber´s last blog ..NEW FEATURED ART
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It has helped me to understand that without the dark corners, the walls would fall down. The dingy dark corners provide the anchors for the beautiful canvas in the middle. The focal point is determined by decoration. We learn to illuminate as we grow.
Shine on Ms D, Shine On!
B
“They are, if not evil, simply bleak, sad, and without hope.” I understand this. The memories and experiences falling into these categories are not building blocks for a future, but rather parts of a deconstructed past. And that is how it should be. We learn, grow, move on, move away. And we let the crushed and broken pieces be, knowing that ultimately, they will mend.
Kim Nelson´s last blog ..Great Things From a Small Seed Grow
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Fourth paragraph down, I think you just perfectly described my family in all, but perhaps one scenario. As you’ve said, we’re all fallible humans–easy to judge on the outside and never really knowing what’s on the inside unless one of those rare moments of sharing, self-discovery or enlightenment manifests itself. While I wrote my book of overcoming a difficult childhood, I felt an immense burden lift from me…a weight that I had carried for years. When I was finished writing and editing the book, I self-published it, put it up for sale, and never looked back. My readers have found it unusual that I’ve never read my book after publishing it, but for me it was like compiling all my pain and secrets and throwing it into a file that no longer was a part of me. Oh, and it feels good every time I get a check in the mail for it too.
Screwed Up Texan´s last blog ..Under Pressure
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That sorrowful chain. Yes. In low moments, I am overwhelmed by how one broken thing attaches to another and shackles me in sorrow.
V-Grrrl @ Compost Studios´s last blog ..Art Journal
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“Writing does not always shed light into the dark corners. Sometimes the corners stay dark because there are no good reasons for them, and no profound lessons to be drawn from them. They are, if not evil, simply bleak, sad, and without hope.”
My first thought on reading this passage was “Yes. Sometimes things simply exist because they do. No further information or illumination necessarily needed.”
Your writing of this piece is absolutely breathtaking. And nothing more than that need be said.
Pop and Ice´s last blog ..Carol Lynn and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
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Anticipating your arrival here, I caution myself to not break down into blab mode about my own sorry past. Though I’m doing another novel that is more autobiographical than anything I’ve written to date, the dark places in it have to inform the story, the journey, and not merely be witness to another abusive childhood. It was ruined too long ago to ever fix, and my coping skills in recovery had to do with tying up the past into a bundle and dropping it somewhere. I used to draw a picture of a box, strings scribbled over it, tied, scribbled until oblitertated, to remind myself, it’s the past … leave it.
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The truth isn’t always pleasant. Some things are just too…honest. This all seems to be not only part of this journey — but your whole life’s road.
As long as Jane Devin is writing, I am reading.
Some things, once done, cannot be undone. Some things once broken, can not be remade. Fortunately new joys, (like meeting a traveling Writer), come along in our lives, sometimes at opportune moments. It is good if we can balance the new and old experiences that call on our reserves with experiences that Renew us and spark our imagination.
The Road is calling; there are stories to be gathered and taken to market. Out there somewhere, in some sleepy town, they are just brewing a fresh pot of coffee and yearning for a real Writer to come in out of the fog and capture their life in Her words.
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Beautifully written, Jane. I love reading the comments just as much as the piece itself. I would give anything to have the ability to express myself the way you and your gifted fans/fellow writers do. Always, always a pleasure.
The truths you do tell are always stirring. I don’t know how anyone, let alone someone with your sensitivity, not only survives but comes out more gentle and loving than anything they’ve ever been shown. I know you have said you don’t believe everything happens for a reason but it seems like you’ve at least created your own. You reach out to the world, and people are moved. I know you sometimes think it doesn’t make a difference but it does. You do. Keep up the journey, Jane. “The tender mercy of acceptance” will find you.
Beautiful writing. You really have a way of weaving thoughts and emotions into such lovely word tapestries (Hmm. I bet I just plagiarized that from someone. Sorry.). Anyway, really nice. But, as for me, I want to read what happens when you stop tamping down, and start allowing and accepting. I want to read about all those crushed things that are trying to come to the surface. I look forward to the posts when you face down those painful memories, look them square in the eye and say “Honey, show me the pain.” Could they possibly be adversaries once you’ve allowed them to tell you their stories?
Having said that, I also have to say, if it just don’t feel right yet, then it probably is wise to not be messing around with them nasty, crushed things just yet. Let them be like soup. Let it all simmer and bubble away in your being, until it’s all just perfectly balanced and understood and ready for the consumption of your readers. But to me, that’s the writing that cuts to the bone. Looking reality in the face and describing how you, the writer, survived it, and were somehow miraculously made stronger by it. To me, it’s the only legitimate way out of the pain.
So, anyway, thanks for the writings, Jane Devin. Always a pleasure.
Amy, I have written about many of the crushed things, but they are still crushed even when brought into the sunlight. Those are the dark corners that just don’t get lit.
Pat, no one ever really “leaves” the past behind. It’s life experience — it doesn’t get cut out and abandoned — only our perceptions or feelings about it change.
Bruce, yes. It’s ultimately about finding enough good to balance the bad. If not balance, then at least make it less omnipresent.
Thank you all for your comments and insights.
Wrenching. Illustrative. Poignant.Truth.
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One day, the truest stories I know will not be the most difficult to tell.
How true Jane, how true.
I have to agree with Jane in that the past doesn’t get left behind. I’ve had to sort of make friends with it and integrate it, which allowed me to reform it. Now it no longer has as much power of my life, which is good. Had to let a lot of stuff go, true. But I felt much lighter in the letting.
What a wonderful string …
Love,
D~
Donna L. Faber´s last blog ..NEW FEATURED ART
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I’ve been lurking for a few weeks now. I wish I had the words to describe the beauty and wisdom of your words and writing style. I’ve been doing a little tamping down myself, so this post is most timely.
Your newest fan,
Anne
I had a nice discussion about grace with a Lutheran minister once. I thought I understood it, then wasn’t so sure. But I do think it involves much faltering.
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This piece makes me feel the way I do when I rent one of those dark brooding foreign films. I muddle through the entire story foolishly waiting for the happy ending that never comes. Similarly, your writing exquisitely transports us into the picture that your words paint. But the long dark shadow it leaves on my consciousness is overwhelming. I too, crave sunshine.
Here’s what I see. Jane Devin, national spokes woman for GMC. What a perfect fit and they’d have the best marketing plan to date. Seriously, A win win campaign. With your work ethics and their needs, this could be their best yet. Real women trusting another real woman. Someone needs to sell them on this.
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Wow. Where some of your stories lay tenderly on my heart, this one shot through it. You see such truths in life and are not afraid to address them.
I admire you more and more everyday…