Into the mystic

I’ve always loved Van Morrison’s Into the Mystic.  It was Matt’s and my last dance at our wedding, before we left.  I’ve written before about how I couldn’t have known how appropriate that imagery was, as we headed out from a party into our married lives.  We boarded the launch and left the dock, into the darkness, into the mystic.

Lately I’ve been thinking about how right now, we are deep in the mystic.

Separately and together.

On my own, this last annus mirabilis has been full of upheaval, loss, celebration, and change. I’m still finding my way through it, and I’ve written a lot about how it’s taking longer than I had anticipated to feel “normal” again.  I suspect the truth is that “normal” is different now so what’s taking longer than expected is adjusting to this new reality. I feel deep in the mystic, there’s no question about that.  Everything feels dark, but it’s also shot through with flashes of light and unexpected glittering. I feel sad, and anxious, and worried that I’m still so sad and anxious, but at the same time I feel more aware of all the beauty and good fortune that surrounds me than ever.

Together, we feel a bit in the mystic.  Or a lot, even.  Life is confusing and a little bit scary, and yet this person is standing next to me.  We are each other’s most obvious person to take things out on – and believe me, we do that – but there is also a rock-solid foundation of empathy and deep core of shared experience that binds us together in a new way.  That’s what feels mystical to me about this moment in marriage: it’s dark, and disorienting, but something’s holding me up, too.