Retreat #3: Exhaustion
A month of work, ruthless schedules and pounding performance pressures has wound me tight as a clock spring. By the time I reach my cabin at 5:30, I feel battered and fragile. Bill comes out to meet me. His wholesome face reminds me to breathe.
Just take a breath.
The inner spring relaxes a tiny bit. I’m about to enter a place that carries no external demands. I sense that I need to ease into this. Slow down slowly. Let go slowly.
Just take another breath.
In one trip, Bill bundles everything from my trunk into my cabin. He trots back down the hill. Still standing by my car, I thank him as he walks past me. My feet feel heavy as I ascend the hill. In the wake of Bill’s energy, I move like a slug. Closing the door of my cabin, I drop my coat onto the floor and lie down beside it. I stretch out on my back, fold my hands across my chest and stare at the log ceiling. After a while, my breathing slows and steadies and deepens. My mind registers the crackle of the fire. Frequent sighs escape my lips. I search for my spirit. All seems dead inside. Wooden. No tears, no joy. I do a mental scan of my entire body. Exhaustion.
I have no idea how much time elapses before I gather myself onto all fours and crawl to the couch. A little stemmed bowl filled with peanuts and dried cranberries sits on the coffee table beside a basket of big red apples. Dorothy’s attention to beauty and detail seems like a sacred act, and it touches me.
Time spins into oblivion. I remain slouched in one corner of the couch until the fire dies, gathering darkness into the room. The glow of the embers weakens, falters… winks out. I take off my socks and roll off the couch. My feet feel their way across the wooden floor to the sheepskin by the bed. I slip out of my jeans and into bed. My situation flits through my mind: I’ve established a routine for these retreats, I now know the cabin and the land. With nothing new to discover, what am I going to do with three days ahead of me? I pull a long, deep breath and, like Scarlett O’Hara, let sleep postpone the question.
*****
Journal Entry on Day Three: I’ve had three rough days of fatigue, discouragement and boredom. Am I de-toxing from stress? Having withdrawal pains because I’m addicted to going at high speed, pushing and working and moving on to the next thing out of habit? Perhaps this solitude is tough because it’s the third one. Anyone trying to kick an addiction will tell you that the third day is the worst; cravings are unbearable and the temptation to give up is strong. Get past the third day and things improve. I pray, oh I pray that this retreat is the worst. I have been so blue…