After re-reading you letter, I had a strange feeling that I was not even remotely acquainted with the writer. I felt as though I were reading someone else's mail -- but this lasted for only the quickest moment. Mulling this over, I seem to come to no conclusions about what it could mean -- none that seem valid or even reasonable to me, anyway. Maybe I am just in another of my many peculiar moods? Any thoughts?
I had heard about Immroth's death and meant to tell you in my last letter , but my mind must have been in limbo when I wrote the letter because it completely escaped me until after I mailed it. (I don't seem to be very coordinated today.) It seems such a waste that he died when he was just getting things settled more.
The concept (& feeling) of death has been on my mind quite a bit these past few days, because I feel that I had a narrow escape myself on Sunday. We went whitewater rafting as planned. I had an unexplainable feeling of apprehension (which was completely out of proportion to a normal situation because I usually love to do anything connected with water) all week before we went. But I just told myself that I was being foolish.
The first few rapids we went over were really exciting -- an incredible experience. Then we got to one that we couldn't quite control. (There were 4 in a raft & we didn't have a guide, or anything) it all happened so quickly I can't even remember falling in the water. But the water currents are so full of force, you are simply pushed the more you fight, the more the current pushes you around. I don't know how long I was without oxygen, but it seemed quite long. I even remember thinking I was definitely going to die & trying to resign myself to it. I felt badly because I didn't get to say goodbye to Brook, but I remember hoping he wasn't going to drown too. After thinking this, my head reached the surface & I was in calmer water, but was still not able to swim, or control the direction I was going in anyway. I immediately saw Brook and the other guy from our raft, but neither were close to me at all. I still could not breathe, and I began to hyperventilate, I just couldn't seem to get any oxygen. I finally had enough presence of mind to cover my mouth with my hand & breathe in CO2 which helped a lot, but I was in deep water & it was really hard to get to shore because of the water's pull. Luckily, there was a guy fly fishing not too far from me. He had on wading pants & he came over as far as he could & I came over to shore. The poor guy had to carry me out because my legs just wouldn't stand up. By the time Brook, John, & Sandy were back at the raft, and they came over to get me, I wasn't thrilled about getting on again (you don't get to get in, you have to sit on the tube & there's nothing to hold onto!) but we had to go a little while longer to get to a stopping point. At the stopping point, Brook fell out again, but it wasn't a bad spot so he wasn't too upset. It was the most exhausting experience I've ever been through in my life. I got out with the other 2 girls at the midpoint & all the guys went the rest of the way together. They could control the rafts a lot better than we could, so they didn't fall in anymore. The whole thing is supposed to take 4 hours, but that day it only took 3 because the river was so fast and treacherous. I don't think I'll ever do it again, although it was a nice feeling to do it once. At the beginning of the trip, I said a silent prayer to Neptune. I suppose he heard me.
I have slept (probably to forget the experience!) an incredible number of hours since we got home on Sunday night -- so has Brook. That first spill really affected him, too. I think he was worried about me, because the first thing I said to him after I got my breath was "I thought I died". (He thought he was going to die, too.) We both have had slight fevers for abt. 3 days also. I'm not so sure it was worth all this! I'm sorry I keep talking about it, but it really made an impression!
As for exploring the psyche, for which you asked fresh ideas -- I don't think I have anything new to give. I suppose everyone has their own methods though. Usually I find that trying to explore makes the knowledge elusive, but if I just drift along in my usual way, keeping myself as open as I can, intuitive knowledge seeps in. Sometimes, it seems to come directly, and sometimes, no, it just kind of sneaks up on me.
I have a friend who has been in analysis for 2 years. Since I never could afford to be (and I'm also not sure I'd want to be) I like to hear little tidbits about her self-discoveries. (I don't know if I could stand all that concentrated knowledge about my horrible self!) Usually, I like to take her little insights and file them way mentally for my own use in situations later on. I file them under, "Wacko, heal thyself!" The self-discoveries seem to center around 3 emotions -- fear, anger, guilt. It seems we are to ask ourselves constantly why am I afraid? Why am I angry? Why do I feel guilty? As for fear, I think sometimes it's a protection. Regina says absolutely NO! (It's just an impediment to a fuller life.) What do you think? I think we need a few impediments. My philosophy seminar entitled FREEDOM succeeded unconvincing me that it doesn't really exist! (But my seminar on Death did not have the same effect!) I suppose there are degrees of freedom. Everyone has their own idea of what a cage is! I know that all this is strictly incoherent, but since my ideas on these things are only nebulous (at best, even)_, I guess they really aren't in a state to be conveyed? (But, of course, I won't be quiet yet!) As for anger, I feel that I should really repress that -- no matter what anyone says. I hate to fight with people. Guilt seems tied up with this in a complicated way, too. Regina says her shrink tells her to "forgive herself", and I can see that it's necessary to an extent -- just so you can live with yourself, but I don't think it should be too automatic.
Oh well, I've rambled on long enough, I think. Take care of Tweety.
P.S. I wish I could get more interested in non-fiction sometimes, but some of it strikes me as less real than fiction. Non-fiction appears flawed to me in that whatever reality it communicates is diffused by "the facts" impeding the essence.
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