Too Deep for Words

From time to time it happens that we find ourselves reacting strongly to a thing — a voice, a memory, a circumstance, an idea, a person — on a level we just don’t get.  It’s illogical, out-of-proportion.  

Consider a man, middle-aged, successful, basically happy with his life, who sees his stooped, fragile, withered, white-haired father and still feels a gut punch of fear.  And each time it happens, he thinks “How can this little old weak man who I could physically carry still terrify me so?”

For me, those moments have shown up at various times.  I cannot understand why the subject of abortion hits me in the gut to the point where I can end up in tears fairly quickly.  Same with even talking about child abuse of any kind.  They are atrocities of course, so understandable for the reaction.  And yet with the level on which I feel it, would be easy to think that either I was a victim of abuse or had had an abortion. (Or someone very close to me had.)  Not the case. I do not understand why I cannot deal in any rational way with those subjects.  

There are also positive feelings that go this way.  I’m not sure why the smell of a fire burning (one with real wood and fire set by matches, not gas, and that leaves ash in the fireplace) fills me with a feeling of happiness and even anticipation.  Or why the crunch of autumn leaves under my feet (along with the pleasant fragrance) gives me a strong feeling of contentment and well-being.  Or the delight of coming in from outside on a scorcher of a summer day to hear and feel and even smell the comfort of an air-conditioned kitchen.

I figure there are reasons for all these things.  For the father and his son, I would guess it’s the ever-present and never-resolved ache to be a man in his father’s view.  To achieve the “It” of living up to what his father wanted.  [Do any men ever feel that?  Seems no matter how well they do, they never feel it.]

For the good feelings I described, I feel sure it’s related to pleasant and secure memories and feelings of those seasons in my childhood.  Regardless, I plan to continue enjoying them.

It’s the other ones that bother me.  The negative reactions that I just can’t find bases for.  I don’t know that it matters if I “find” them —- even if I did would it change anything?  But I find it fascinating that as much as we often think we’re in touch with ourselves, there are just some things that are inexplicable because they’re too far in to reach, too deep for words.

Currently my method of dealing with them is to acknowledge them.  Just to say, “I see you there” and keep moving.  Maybe at some point, likely when I’m relaxed and least expecting it, the insight will come.