Missing the Priestess and Other Bits.

A little over twelve years ago I received a comment on this blog from a young woman living in Australia. There came further comments, and eventually the correspondence shifted to email. By then, so impressed was I by her understanding of life which went way beyond her years, that I had already come to style her ‘the priestess.’

And so she attained a level of importance in my life which I never fully understood, but decided I didn’t need to. It was apparent to me that here was a special connection and that was good enough, and she appeared to see it the same way. The correspondence continued until a few months ago, by which time I had been experiencing a growing suspicion for some time that whatever mysterious factor had given rise to the connection was now weak or missing altogether.

It wasn’t a matter of either party being to blame. It was simply that our respective roads had begun to diverge – hers rising and revealing natural proclivities which I hadn’t recognised before, and mine falling as the health issues, my increasing reclusiveness, and other issues commensurate with advancing age took their toll. And so I felt it was time to say goodbye.

But I still miss her. Even at the end I still experienced a visceral thrill every time I saw her name in my inbox. It was a special name which seemed to glow even though our paths were far apart and the light should have been no longer visible.

So what am I missing? The memory? The sense of companionship because I have no social circle as other people do? Or is it a nagging awareness that special connections are born of some arcane factor which transcends distance, be it geographical, ideological, psychological, or social?

I really don’t know, but all things come to an end sooner or later because that’s the nature of life. INFJs are known for not going back, and so I plod on to the terminus which sits waiting, inscrutably and inevitably, some way ahead. No renewing old dreams and past glories for me (quoting a favourite song, I’m ashamed to admit.)

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The toothache has been absent for a few days (heaven be praised) but the depression, anxiety, and frustration at the ways of modern times continue to keep close station. And I’ve still had no news on the recent CT scans. Three weeks seems like a long time to wait to be told whether or not you still have some prospect of a future.

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I have more posts knocking on the door of my brain at the moment – most notably my strange attraction to the true and truly dark story of a serial killer and the execution of an innocent man, the downside of being born into a wealthy environment, and another which has temporarily slipped my mind. Maybe tomorrow.