Disclaimer: I don’t fully understand this piece. There’s a fluidity to it that begs to be changed nearly every time I’ve sat down to edit, churn and change the words to make it flow. However, this is what I’ve settle on for now.
Find that pit of blackness, in your heart of many stones, your head of granite
Incapable of love, full of lust
Wallow in the icy lakes of grief’s tears
Follow her in the field of stray souls
With her grasp on your wrist
Drag her until weariness washes over
Thirst finding insatiable sleep
With grief on your back, lunge and jab
Sprint and fall again
Run and hide, bury in earthly possessions, in time
In others, in everything
Yet she will find you still
Fall until your knees are open
Until your body is covered in bruises
Be bold, be brave, be bereavement
Become one with grief and her overpowering sense of ownership
For in her, find companionship
Fighting and slashing her wrists
Bloody she screams
Broken she grows a new arm, with greater strength, a tighter grasp
Resistance proves to be fatal
Awake in your vomit, swiping bits of grey bile
Off the floor
Surrender your half digested metabolic processes into white abyss
Ribs beating with excessive breath
Remind yourself that living does not mean ALIVE
ALIVE does not mean okay
Because you are far from okay.
This open-ended piece of creative writing will bring heart and mind into focus. Reflections of emotions such as unacceptance, grief, failure, deliverance and more will be explored in further pieces of this multi-post series.
The term “thirsting soul” hints at the inadequacies of being human and the pursuit of a dreamer or divine search for completeness.
Here I am running away to spend time with myself and try to love myself. Yet, here I am feeling worse. I see people with their friends, roaming and laughing and sightseeing downtown and I want to hole up into a ball of warm blankets. I want to feel a heat wave send a shiver down my spine because it shouldn’t be here. And maybe I shouldn’t be here.
With memory of it all my body responds to the ache in my gut, the willowing heart song confirming it all. Deadbeat. Hollow within, I muster the courage to reach out of blackness in my mind. I gather the greens of spring, surfacing from beneath the earth. Out they stretch, little heads in search of light. Lively they sprout; lovingly they bound together towards the sky. They, as I, are thirsty. At last, a droplet of hope. Thirsting, subdued.
Mossy axons sprawling, spreading, multiplying and it hits like a babbling brook, once frozen, now alive again. It hits like a train wreck where all survive but one. Minimal damage, but pain none the same.
As I look to the sky, beckoning for my Father. All doubt is shaken and I stand strong like a forest of well-established residency. “Here I am, send me.”