Catharsis in Binding

The idea of catharsis intrigues me deeply. It feels like something mystical. Secret magic handed down in hushed tones over generations. Dark rituals and forest moon fires. The breezy whisper to "let go" in the dark.

When it's wielded properly it works to mend and heal. When it's spell is badly cast it just makes things hurt more. It is powerful and dangerous. It can open things it's meant to close. I always tread carefully around allowing it because it's as sharp as it is soothing.

Hearts and minds are sensitive things.

I walked an exhibition of bound things once. Each item meticulously wrapped from top to bottom. Objects held in. Perhaps forever. The guide talked about binding as catharsis as a way of processing complex thoughts into ritualistic artefacts. The idea gripped me then and still does. Bound me to that day in memory.

It wasn't bodies. It was things. A book they had read as a child. Wrapped in cloth from old clothes and tied neatly in twine from a day they went fishing with their father and read the book by the bank. A whole memory wrapped up and tied tight, like the perfect gift for a child.

It was difficult stuff too. Photo frames of ex lovers in dirty rags and jagged barbs of wire. A broken bike in chain. A doll representing loss much harsher, cuddled up in duvet wool and pretty bows of silk.

It's effort to hold those emotions in place.

I imagine it's me. Wrapping. Slowly and carefully. Feeling the bandage flow out and round. Feel it grow taut in my hands as I pull it tight. Let it loose for the next lap. Again and again. Meaningful artefacts receiving a ritual of appreciation and of containment. I'm reliving memories and weaving them up safely forever.

Then it's not objects, but pains. I'm taking my angers and my hurts. I'm carefully, tenderly taking them, rolling them up, folding them neat. Each one given its own moment of solemn acknowledgment  for the purpose it served. Then I gently bind the feelings up.

It's an act of love to treat a wound.

I feel a slight catharsis in these dalliances of imagined things. It lacks anything physical though and for catharsis to work in the moment, physical feels necessary sometimes. Manifesting things outside has a satisfying weight. An expelling of the knotty things into something tangible. Maybe something you can burn to harmless ash or tear up into little harmless pieces.

Sometimes its good to follow your own rituals. I followed them today to writing and expelling something. I recognize hurting and rebuilding is a reoccurring theme here but I'm leaning into that too.

I had all the I cant's bouncing round in my head today. Making a riotous mess. So I took each one. I folded it up. I looked at it carefully. I thanked it for its time. I bound it to a page. Over and over. Until magic. Until Catharsis.

I gently whispered to myself, "let go..." in the dark.