We all walk ancientrails. Welcome to the journey.

Psychic Compost

Written By: Charles - May• 18•20

Beltane and the Corona Lunacy II

Monday gratefuls: Ancient friends. Fire. Shiva. Mario and Elizabeth. Tom and Roxann. Bill and Regina. Paul and Sarah. Kate and I. The heat coming. Earlier and earlier. Trump, showing us what we need to be, who we were. The pandemic, flushing out the past, opening the gates for a new way of being together. Our life now.

A friend challenged my post of a couple of days ago. Especially this phrase: “I wasted time, obscured the ancientrail I needed to follow.” His point was that nothing the psyche encounters goes to waste. It all composts, makes soil for the future. True enough.

And yet. There was that offer of a Danforth Fellowship for graduate work, an application that never got completed. There was that incredible GRE score which did me little good. Yes, Brandeis took a look, said no, theoretical anthropology had no funds. Rice, too. Yes, might have beens. Could have beens. There was the six years I gave to seminary and fifteen I gave to the Presbyterian church. The time with Judy. With Raeone. Painful. Not wasted in the compost pile of my inner garden.

Economists though talk of opportunity costs. Doing this means not doing that. Taking this path means, in Frostian fashion, not taking that one, less traveled or no. And I wonder what my life as an anthropology professor would have been like. It was an achievable path, one I could have walked. Fruitless to speculate? At 73, sure. Does that stop the wondering? No.

It’s not a thought that occurs very often and I long ago leaned into the meandering nature of my life. As Kate used to say, the retrospectroscope. I take my buddy’s point, yes, not wasted. But the opportunity cost? Still real.

This ancientrail I have traveled has taken account of the pain, the institutional religious years, the failed, doomed to fail, relationships, the opportunity costs occasioned by all of them and by addiction. I’m not much for regret. Raeone and I adopted Joseph. More than enough benefit for the pain. Treatment taught me a lot about myself, about the abandoned boy who still wanted his mommy. The crack occasioned by grief, that deep fissure, did heal. I thank Jung and Kate for that.

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