Last night, after publishing my post about the hearing in New York City, I had a momentary panic in which it appeared that my entire blog had been erased from my Blogger "dashboard". A wave of adrenaline shot through my body, my adrenal glands pumping, and I shook in disbelief, screaming wretchedly into a pillow while Mary tried to comprehend exactly what had happened. After the initial shock, I took a breath and was able to determine the cause of the momentary lapse, discovering that the blog was still there, after all, that eight months of work was not lost.
What did I learn from this experience? First, I learned that technical issues with digital technology often have simple remedies if one can remain calm. Second, I learned that this blog means even more to me than I thought. Thirdly, it is painfully obvious that I am three months behind in saving my blog entries as Word documents, and saving them thus is the only way I could rebuild the site if it was indeed lost to the ethers. I also realized that, as attached to this blog as I am, it actually does not exist, except as a series of combinations of zeros and ones somewhere in cyberspace, whatever that is. Being a virtual entity, Digital Doorway really only exists in my mind and the minds of its readers. It has no physical presence and occupies no physical space. If someone wished to burn my writings (a great compliment in my mind) in order to remove them from public view, they would be hard pressed to actually locate anything combustible. That said, I will continue to save my entries into Word and also print them, perhaps even binding them in book form in order to give the project some feeling of corporeality. I would then be ready for the aforementioned book-burnings.
What were those screams and cries about? Of course, on the surface they were about the perceived "loss" of my blog, my web-site, my "digital doorway". But on a deeper level, it was about the loss which I relived on Thursday---the loss of Woody---and the reminder of his absence by the rather technical and dispassionate descriptions given in the courtroom. There was talk about the knife, the bullets, the number of wounds, his agitation, the congregation members' perceptions of him, the officers' fear, Woody lying face-down on a carpet in front of the podium in a growing pool of blood, handcuffs binding his hands. I know how he felt in those moments because he had placed a phone call to us on someone's cellphone moments before the police burst in, and while our outgoing message played, seven shots were fired, six striking his body. Our answering machine then recorded three minutes of his post-shooting agony as he yelled "I love you!" and"This is a political assassination!", interrupted by gutteral screams of pain from the bullets lodged in his thin body, hypovolemic shock taking hold as he struggled for life. The tape of that message still sits on our shelf. I have not listened to it for some time.
My screams were about so much more than the website, and I'm clear that---as Mary remarked---it was just one of God's (or the Goddess', or The Gods', or The Powers That Be) little interruptions which can quickly succeed in turning our awareness back towards the dark interior landscape which is ours alone. With Mary's intuitive guidance, I also realized that it was about my previous perceived losses of my creativity: the escape from art-school circa 1984; my abandonment of the visual arts for very complicated reasons; my feelings that I lacked the discipline, resolve, and talent to pursue a career as an artist.
There are many losses in life, and the apparent one in the forefront of consciousness will often stir the sleeping monsters who linger beneath in subterranean vaults of suppressed emotion and sadness. That said, I awaken refreshed this morning to the cool air brought to us by a break in the extended heat which has bathed us for the last few weeks. I'm recovering from the drama of the last two days, the exhaustion of being in the city, and the loss of sleep while away from home on uncomfortable beds.
The program was interrupted, now back to our regularly scheduled uncertainty.