Feel

And as I tried to wane this morning, the feeling came over me again. I could feel it in my bones, in my veins, in my muscles, in my brains..

I wept silently while his arms were wrapped around me. He didn’t notice. Just like no one else would know. Not unless i said something. Not unless I spoke, but who would care. I could hope.

My tears dropped off my cheeks like the shuddering of my body. I again, wept silently. I again was held, alone.

And what words do I say? As we’re laying there in the space of death and the space of life. And again, it shudders through my veins. Through my muscles, through my body.

I could feel the moment of the death. Not knowing then how I knew it would feel now. I could feel the memory of our dna coursing through me. I didn’t know then it would be the end , but I know now.

I didn’t want to share the thoughts. Didn’t want to impede my depression on you or any argument of why I feel the way I feel. I didn’t want to have to feel what you don’t feel, you’ll never feel. I didn’t want to be disappointed that you don’t feel.

Not an Angel

Reality depends a great deal upon one believing what he sees—or seeing what he believes. Either way.

Richelle E. Goodrich

This is Casino, a pup that belongs to a man I met in the park today. Halfway from my work to my car this man sat at a bench. He looked up from his occupying moment and said “hello beautiful.” As I approached his direction he had at this point told me I was beautiful and pretty about 5 times. I smiled and made slight conversation with him and offered him a piece of chocolate. He told me his wife had died. My heart sank and I instantly thought of my loss. He again told me I was beautiful. I asked him the name of his pup and said to him he has his own little piece of luck. He agreed and giggled. He was playing ufc on his phone and I chatted with him about kicking ass in the game. As I thanked him for his kindness and was about to leave to continue to my vehicle, he asked me if I was an angel. I smiled and said no, but he told me again that I was beautiful. He had at this point also said several things about his life and invited me to visit, coffee, breakfast, etc. I now know where this man lives. I realized this man had a different brain than I, and it functions in a different aspect than my own. Developmentally delayed is how we’d modernize it. But somethings struck me as more like, life had happened to this man. And perhaps stunted him in a way that deferred him from fear, given him a more innocent and childlike approach and expression of his thought. Unhindered. Unfiltered. And then I realized that maybe he was an angel. Maybe he was sent to me to help me feel like I actually was seen, and actually maybe I am beautiful. And maybe my worth was seen through the eyes of this man who couldn’t help but share his luck of insight with me.

This is the face.

This is the face of love. Each time my heart is touched by love it is etched in my soul. It creates a path of proof through the smile’s lines of love’s joy and laughter. Then wanders through the brow’s furrow of love’s wonder. It penetrates the pores pouring from love’s pain. Love looks like this.

This is the face of desperation. Pleading for the pain to process and bring peace. Begging for release from the bindings and shackles of shame from continually feeling this way. Bargaining no more, but blinded by defeat. Desperation looks like this.

This is the face of hope. Recognizing that this is a moment of an awareness of raw experience and reality. Lit up briefly by the reflections of the tears sweet brilliance of beaded reckoning. Relinquishing the idea that I have to keep it festered and vested in the cavity my soul reveals as wounded. Hope looks like this.

This is the face of disgust. Putting too much sacred deliverance into a space already self filled. Giving with relentless effort to offer more just to prove worth to the takers who’ve passed on praise. Inflicting a self imposition and acknowledgement of misalignment. Self, not self. Disgust looks like this.

This is the face of bewilderment. Standing in a cleansed body state of muddled mind. Perceptions shifting and breathing brings only moments of mild mannered transitions. In disbelief with feeling of washed over and sharing poses more as imposition, overlooked and taken for granted. Bewilderment looks like this.

This is the face of strength. Grimace and regrouping, bawling and growing. Perseverance begins to permeate after repeated experience. Going in as a dove, coming out scorched dark, now a raven, yet continually still it flies. Rising to the challenge baffling the deliverer of discourse. Strength looks like this.

This is the face of grief. The sudden onset of not understanding that operations continue. Disbelief of lack of attentive heart compassing language and cognition. Wayside, left in wonder. Sad overcame by weight weighed by a judge of less caliber. Cast aside and left alone in the debris of dismantling. Grief looks like this.

Again again

Guess what? I am grieving again… Again… Again… Again… was silently. The last four days. Grief. Again.

And I’ve been holding it into myself because let’s face it, who really cares?… Yeah I know that we all say that we care, because of course we do. But at the end of the day isn’t it just another emotion, again? Again?

This is not the kind of emotion that you can just not have… Yes you can work on triggers, you can work on breathing, you can work on a holding it and letting it be and acknowledging it,… But eventually it goes away, again. It’s not something that is “Dealt ” with the never to resurface. It does resurface, again. And sinks and rises again.

And I don’t think that people don’t care, because I know in their form of caring they do, we do. We all have our capacities. The closest people in my relationships don’t even ask me how my heart is doing in relation to the death of my daughter. It’s hard to want to go there for them… Again.

I think I have one friend who actually inquires about Archaea specifically. So I know at least one out of my hundreds of friends and even at that the closest people in my life… Someone cares. Which helps phase the day… Again.

But moreover I think the bitterness comes from within. Because the levels that grief touches are constantly surprising me. Over and over I find myself saying… “Am I still feeling this again?” “Am I really at this moment again”…

And again I find myself saying… “No one has ever been here before. Not even you. (to myself) No one has ever experienced this moment in time and space emotion heart and brain. I am the first to navigate this. People are welcome to be on or off my ship, but the captain I must remain, and feel all these waters out… And search for a stable ground. “. …again.

Into the new year…

Among all the other shifts, I could feel this one floating about my essence. Taunting, in its own subtle form, only offering enough aloofness to keep my instincts peaking. It could have been that a friend gave the plain prophecy or rather New Years resolution in disguise. He knew I knew., but to know, and breathe the actual thickness of the air where it should be light and brisk… that is the knowledge. also, the knowledge to come.

A few deep personal issues have come to a head the last week and it was expected. I felt ironic that the timing of what I spoke about months ago have taken place in my observation within such the time frame and now I am facing many things full face.

I have seen my face in the reflection in each person I have encountered and applied some form of judgment on. It is simply amazing how much the judgement I don’t actually pass on others gets absorbed by my own interpretation of who I am. I take in all these assumptions and let the direction of opinion be stewarding.

Now after have been going through some life changing moments recently, I observe that there is a new beginning. It’s esoteric but timely and is most assuredly described as cliche

the free resolution turned my faded goal of yesteryear back in toward my interrogation of self and scrutinized the very thing I keep running into. Blame. And in the process of finding happiness in the midst of darkness I keep pulling the cloak further over the progress.

Entering the new year was to represent another day. Another chance to show who I am, despite how I think I am turning into one crazy deluded woman on a mission to understand pain.

Entering the new year was to be a breath of fresh and ready filled air. Oxygenated with aspirations and inspirations.

I did not anticipate having to exit the end of the year watching what I do not have. Nor did I even come close to anticipating that to bring in the new year I’d once again be breathing the heavy air that holds my body down to the seat so that it doesn’t rudder away with the speed of which my heart beats.

But I was thankful for the company that I was blessed with. It leveled my heart just enough so I could see and have the knowledge that now I know, it is time to focus on intentional healing. Even in the pain that lingered from precious and previous days, there was a love holding my understanding or at least holding enough of me so that I felt secure enough to express my dualities of existence in the previously mentioned experiences.

Entering into the new year has provided ample opportunities to utilize the information gathered through last. It is an energy that is a risen vibration, waiting to be tapped into. Human conditions are fighting just as strong to be in charge and I am in the sense of feeling astral.

I can only hope that more of us will continue to heed the purity of instinct, deliverance or receiving the messages. Internal work. Eternal work.

Grief – it ruins

Grief,

It comes out of nowhere. It tells you the truth that lies want to use as a cover. It sections off nothing and offers no disclosure.

Grief,

It is allusive and gives no remorse. It sanctions nothing as sacred and promises to contort. It gives a visual of hope and has only desolation to report.

Grief,

It is forced upon those who are desperately trying to heal. It comes full force when Love is the life’s appeal. It transitions hope into a perspective of false ideals.

Grief,

It has become an inebriation. It transforms love into devastation. It gives face of light and darkens the illumination.

Grief,

It has made me monstrous. It has erased all forms of calming guidance and patience. I have become brutal and callous.

Grief,

I no longer know what to expect from me. It has taken my dreams and defecated on my reality. I am no longer who I want to be.

lonely pain. thanks grief.

 

i picked up a book last that was given to me shortly after Archaea passed. i was accepting of the gesture then but knew i would never read it. it was a christian author. it has been sitting next to my bed for over a year and then recently moved to a pile of other books that i put on the ground by my side table in my room. i read the foreword. i read a few sentences of the first part of the intro. something has changed within me.

i wasnt changed because i decided to give this book an opportunity and it changed my life. no, the change has been taking place this whole time. since the day she died. but it was the fact that i was willing to even open this book is what the indicator of change was. the idea that i had enough grace in my world to offer space for God.

hahaha…. me, human… offering space, holding space, for God. what a riot. but that, is exactly what i am doing, in a very human form. i have cleared out a place from where my anger has been bunkering in my soul and allowed a gap for lighter living to take up its residence instead.

this has been so difficult.

this morning i made a cup of tea and sat in Archaea’s corner. i brought the book with me to the rocking chair. this rocking chair that i was supposed to be rocking my beautiful baby daughter in, singing to her sweetly while she nurses to slumber. the rocking chair that i was supposed to rock with Solly on one knee and Archaea on the other to read story time and ogle the silly pictures and make silly sounds together. the rocking chair that has been in my family for generations and is a solid piece of framework to the home of which we live in.

back to reading the book. so i opened the book to pursue reading and the first few paragraphs hit me like a ton of bricks. it hasn’t told the story yet, but i have gathered that he too, has lost a child and in that present moment of the story, he was deep in the throes of double life and grief. my world.

he spoke of the reality that he was walking in there, into this public location filled with people, but alone in his pain. his pain. i read the rest of the chapter, but it was that takeaway that is poignantly haunting me. alone in HIS pain, while others are potentially sitting alone, in their pain, among the people. its absurd. all this pain. rubbing up on each others symptoms and diagnosis in the world of loss and grief.

it reminds me of the scene in ferngully where crysta puts her hand on the tree that was marked by zaks human affection and says, “can’t you feel its pain?” here is this tall beautiful ginormous and protecting tree surrounded by all the other trees and fauna and flora of the forest, yet still standing alone in this pain. and the irony here is that the human condition once again has afflicted something with pain. this amazing and overarching monument of the earth is surrounded by others of the like… a little similar looking on the outside. feeling their own twists of fury and fate in their design and growth, and appearing to stand alone. underneath it all though are those roots deep in the ground that are reaching outwardly toward freedom and also toward one another.

we all are experiencing or have experienced or will, a sense of  loss, and grief and pain will inevitably become a process of the this humans living experience. not all stay there, and not all grief is felt on the same levels.

my grief is unknown.

i begin to realize that i, indeed, have not yet finished grieving. not that i ever will but this morning when i woke i was overcome with this sadness and i again felt so alone, and so so sad, and so so alone. and when sitting in Archaea’s corner reading this mans words of his pain, the one that i am regarding in the same category as mine, my heart broke a little more. he was or is not alone in his pain, i am there too. but i realized that there is no way that anyone can really understand that, unless you have been there. even then…can you really?

i felt a sadness. it was a sudden dense sadness that said i will always be alone in this. the ones that mostly get it have had their own membership to this unwanted club for a while. but that is not a comforting thought. another uncomfortable thought is that no one will ever be able to fully love me if they are not able to reach into my grief and sadness with me and hold my hand and heart so i can at least “feel” physical comfort, which is massive to my emotional process. i see that i need to be reached out to, sometimes prodded, sometimes offered space, about my grief.

i often feel like a burden. no one wants to hear about grief. no one wants to hear about pain. we all have it. we all have it one way or another. the reality is though, that i need to talk about it. and not to just anyone. that is what my blog is for. but to people who love me and care about me. to help me better understand where i am. to accept where i am and acknowledge the pain i am in. it can’t be gazed over briefly, creating a paraphrase and a summary of my state. sit in the space of sadness with me. i don’t need cheering up. i am a funny and witty person who finds humor in the darkest of hours. i dont need a smile. i have one that will beam brighter in my pain to light a path for those who need a light for themselves in their pain.

i need to be loved deeply during these times.

and that is a lot to ask of someone. so i don’t. rather i withdraw. into silence. into loneliness. and i try to do it alone.

or maybe i wont anymore. again i feel alone in this whole process. which again, i don’t understand. i am an open book. i feel like i am able to invite, welcome and sit with the darkest and the brightest and always offer that a love that i yearn to feel. it is an acceptance that this darkness is part of me. this darkness is why i shine so bright. but it is very difficult to shine sometimes. i feel like a lighthouse on a far distant shore shrouded in the thickest fog, that spins its light around and around hoping that there is a ship in the harbor still seeking the light. patiently waiting for the next rotation of discovery and bliss to come its way. because it will, if only it is willing to sit in the space of the void in the darkest of moments, and honor it.

 

chris(t)raitor

 

ah there it is. that emotion. so familiar. never too far gone to be missed. not like the way i miss you.

my kids keep asking me to set up a tree, set up some lights…they dont know that i think about doing just that every single night. my daughter begs me to just at least set up the lights strings, she doesnt know the kind of complex pain that idea brings. see these are the things that are supposed to be cozy, supposed to be heartwearming, singing  the kinds of songs that are inviting and charming. but not entirely to me, it all is alarming.

see they dont know that if i allowed this to take place, then my honor, my disposition would be a disgrace, erase the meaning of taking  a side so to speak, leave me feeling feeble and meek, and not to the definition this  season implies by festive speech. not to the implicative and traditonal form that i used to preach. back before i was, we were given a breech in the   trust, now a questioning of beliefs and integrations of those traditions is a must and back to those harkening heralds make my heart bust.

in my previous belief system, christ was with man and man was with him, gather around together and sing the worshippings and the hymns, circle around and give prayer for those in need and expecting that the “good Lord” will hear the good deed, and we look to the sky and we look to the churches to help our broken hearted get out of the lurches, but its those very same preachers and prayers that are giving the heart up for purchase.

my heart was paid for they say, but they dont say how much i actually paid for my beliefs that day, when i had to put my head to the floor and give everything in my soul to believe and to pray, to let the words whispser out of my mouth, let thy will be the way… oh i did pay… that inglorius play that i had to play a part in starring as my own character, wacthing myself become the worlds worst mother, listening to him say that he will take the other.

so now back to the season of hope and of healing and all that i see are the backs of my eyelids peeling as i try to peel back my pain and judgment of all that i see and hear, when it is the time for me to hold the “lord” near. and i know there are other meanings to this time, but for me it was the only celebration that had brought a semblance of mind and the hopes and trusts of this world and his to combine are now falling as fast as the snowflakes dissapating near the roadside. and now to the glimmering lights of silver and gold i am blind.

but i beg to see. i beg to feel good, feel better,  feel all the love that i should from my creator, from the master of love and hope maker. but if i gave into that then i would be a traitor, because it was me that he asked to trade for her, it was me, he asked to keep my life over hers for. so if i go about the world, singing of joy to every boy and girl, then i am forced to remember, that my little girl is an angel forever, he became a demandor, and that is not something that i can choose to be a worshipper of and play my used to be love and master christmas, life decorator,.

No one cares

I had a hard day today, none of them are my friends

I had a hard day today, another day of hope and pretend

Things are harder for me now, it’s harder to get through

Things are harder for me now, I struggle through what is easy for you

I am broken now, you just run along and play with them

I am broken now, you say I’m using that old excuse again

I’m struggling, ever since my baby sister died

I’m struggling, please see my brokenness inside

I’m dying, drowning in my brain

I’m dying, yes the – my baby sister died – excuse will remain

processing, reflections, and phoenix

im processing …. and realizing there is a pulsing in the brain that is now abscessing, and simultaneously fracturing the essence of structure, …. breaking down all the zoning and the breakage causes a puncture,  the very core of stabilization… the shaking of the foundation created the shattering of the perfect reflection… only seen in the mirror of self preservation…. preserving the perverse and twisted of versions, the self visualized identity, … as the remnants lay at the floor of our souls debris… the destruction occurs naturally…. only chaos comes from the natural being while intentionally, reaching for the metaphysically, observed,  and released,  for the physical attendee to record visually… purposefully arising from the ashes with intent and poise, silencing the piercing shrieks that explode from internal noise….. with louder and more quiet, with peace and partaking of personal riot, the duality sits in one seat but has a co pilot… flying this aviation device in natures glorious defiance, navigationally pleading for direction or guidance …..while holding out for the results of this test, the years of experience are the only reliance….. relying on the self, based on what was once true, only leaves making the fool make a fool , the fool sets the new standard of what not to do, raises the bar of what to make sure to do,  ensure the new place in the opportunists new dormitory, a broken improvisation of “new” in an old story, a horror story, where peace is misplaced and love is brutal and gory, engorged, in self servitude and division of self sustainment…. watching the self try to rebuild within itself is devastating entertainment…. without the leading of the game of blame,  it seeks its own demise… falling further into the fiery path no longer disguised, and once again, out of the ashes with a smile, the soul will rise