Words.
They so don’t work.
How?
How do I find the words to describe the last month?
I share this, and maybe you will hear what my heart says, taste my tears, feel my embrace, and the heat of my need.
She let go, in the dark and quiet of the silent night.
She whispered, softly the words she could never say in the daylight of her mothers life.
She did not use her fists, her guilt, or her brokeness to beg, plead or weep,” why did you never love me?”
She just let flow from her being, the release she has needed all her life.
Her question at the funeral, ” what is worse? having a mothers love your entire life, and being swept away by the grief when she dies, or never having that love and being indifferent to her passing?”
The sound of weeping has stained my ears. My tears? Her tears? they are the worlds tears…
drifting, further and further from home…
My sanctuary, nothing more than the smell of ripe tomatoes and fresh baked bread.
A winding road that took me
here and there.
Money spent I didn’t have… my pockets feeling bruised and beaten.
Hiding in the sand, from family.
The chocolate sheep who melts in the sun. Hands over my ears blocking out the sounds of a world view I can not stomach.
Lost
The children who feel the earth, but no longer can taste it. Blind they reach
and reach.
What can I do? I am holding them, but they do not feel me, I am loving them, but they do not understand the tears, the embrace.
The tide carries me…
I sit in a can
with wings.
It moves me across the web of landscape. I can see the lines that are drawn so artfully in the ground. The borders and boundaries that separate.
Then
I see her.
and then she is gone.
I see her again, shuttered, behind pain. If you believe that time is linear, hold a childhood pain in your mind, and see if it doesn’t resonate in every pore. I want to mend, I want to fix, but within the grace, is understanding. I am here to be heard, to be seen~touched~and be known. Nothing more. The world is broken. I saw a 12 year old girl, sitting on the floor in the visitors area of the prison, drawing hearts. pages of them. In between she would get phone calls on her cell phone. She would write the numbers down, and call disembodied voices and have “phone sex” with them. Her eye on the watch, hanging up at the correct moment, and going back to her hearts. I sat with pain, heart ache and endless fear. Justice is no more. Do not kid yourselves, Justice is for those who can afford it. You are not innocent until proven guilty, you are guilty until you prove otherwise. And all who love you are just as guilty by association, and deserving of scorn and ridicule, by those in positions of authority and power.
Lessons,
unfolding.
lessons like leaves on the wind, caught and strewn about.
I have learned
relearned
the same lesson.
We are all ripe and rotting in our disconnect. We are a tribe with no face. We are all about “I”, “Me”, “Mine”.
Connections are broken, washed away by artificial coloring and preservative,
leaving us nothing but an uncounseling taste in our mouths and a hunger for the sound of a friend.
Alone is a survival skill, it is not what we were made to be.
I am so tired…