We walk, hand in hand, quietly pointing out the houses we could live in together one day. This one has a porch, and that one has beautiful stone work. The neighborhood is far enough away that the students won’t jack up the rent. We smile and day dream a little about what life could have in store for us.
But in reality, who fucking knows? That’s what you’re so scared of: the unknown. And I try to act like I have some smidgeon of information about the unknown for your sake, but god, I don't really. I try to act like I have some understanding of how life is supposed to work and what we’re supposed to do.
But I have nothing concrete, nothing solid, nothing that you want. I am learning to be okay with the unsolid. I try to want my world to be a little unsolid; if it’s too solid it closes off options and possibilities and pathways. If it’s too solid, it no longer exists as malleable and expansive, allowing for our dreams and hopes and our most beautiful, true life to unexpectedly come to fruition.
The question is how can I get you to see that? How can I get myself to see it in however many months when I feel less good, less hopeful?
_______________________________
Surrounded by lushness
Surrounded by green
and buzzing
and a hum to life
But it’s not a hum that gives me life anymore.
The world is in high definition under the harsh magnifying glass of the sun. And this vibration should awaken my soul and coax out a song of wonder and awe and joy and all the things that a vibrant beautiful world should make me feel.
Should.
Everyone says their therapist says we shouldn’t use the word “should” as it causes us to feel shame and self-loathing if we don’t do the thing we should do or be the thing we should be. But look–the therapist is shoulding me, too.
I haven’t seen a therapist of my own since the year the world shut down and hell broke loose. One half of me has convinced the other half of me that I’m not in need of the services a therapist would provide, and usually I’m pretty damn convincing.
But recently, I’ve been a little less sure.
Perhaps a therapist could coax out a song of wonder and awe and joy from my soul and the lushness and the hum of life would all seem important, seeped with some deeper meaning from a higher power. And I would cry and kiss the ground at my therapist’s feet and run into the street, singing my song from my soul.
But that’s a big perhaps.
And I can tell you right now, I am not convinced.
_______________________________
Quick quick quick
I have things to do, my brain says.
No time for feeling and for writing,
Just enough time to feel strange.
Head is empty, head is full.
Heart is pounding. I need to
Drink less caffeine, but i’m so
Tired all the time. So what do i do?
Simply fall asleep and
Forget it all.
_______________________________
Words slanting down
The page like beads
Falling off a cord
One by one
In slow motion. Each
Bead hitting the ground
With an enormous
Crash. Much louder than
Physically possible. But
Reality has been suspended
And i’ve come to accept that.
_______________________________
The expansion and contraction of time is a tricky trail to traverse. Long ago–or what I’ve come to understand as long ago–time moved at a snail’s pace.
Are we there yet
Are we there yet
Are we there yet
Are we are we are we are we
We are.
From the moment I understood and possessed consciousness, I thought I was waiting for my life to begin, but what I've come to discover is that my life began before I ever existed. I can be traced back through genealogy, through geography, through customs, cultures, conditioning, through behaviors, choices, ideas, and beliefs.
All of these have been complexly intertwining and forming me for years and decades and centuries beyond my comprehension. To know there has been such care and craft taken into account by the universe to get me here in this very moment and in this very form feels like a mother draping a large quilt over her daughter’s bare body. It feels like a squeeze on the shoulder and a kiss on the forehead. It feels like a whispered “goodnight” before a flick of the lights and a quiet close of the door.
So now, I exhale a sigh of relief in the face of a tumultuous world, where time expands and shrinks in unexpected ways, because the blanket is on my shoulders; because I’ve never really been waiting; because we are there.
But in reality, who fucking knows? That’s what you’re so scared of: the unknown. And I try to act like I have some smidgeon of information about the unknown for your sake, but god, I don't really. I try to act like I have some understanding of how life is supposed to work and what we’re supposed to do.
But I have nothing concrete, nothing solid, nothing that you want. I am learning to be okay with the unsolid. I try to want my world to be a little unsolid; if it’s too solid it closes off options and possibilities and pathways. If it’s too solid, it no longer exists as malleable and expansive, allowing for our dreams and hopes and our most beautiful, true life to unexpectedly come to fruition.
The question is how can I get you to see that? How can I get myself to see it in however many months when I feel less good, less hopeful?
_______________________________
Surrounded by lushness
Surrounded by green
and buzzing
and a hum to life
But it’s not a hum that gives me life anymore.
The world is in high definition under the harsh magnifying glass of the sun. And this vibration should awaken my soul and coax out a song of wonder and awe and joy and all the things that a vibrant beautiful world should make me feel.
Should.
Everyone says their therapist says we shouldn’t use the word “should” as it causes us to feel shame and self-loathing if we don’t do the thing we should do or be the thing we should be. But look–the therapist is shoulding me, too.
I haven’t seen a therapist of my own since the year the world shut down and hell broke loose. One half of me has convinced the other half of me that I’m not in need of the services a therapist would provide, and usually I’m pretty damn convincing.
But recently, I’ve been a little less sure.
Perhaps a therapist could coax out a song of wonder and awe and joy from my soul and the lushness and the hum of life would all seem important, seeped with some deeper meaning from a higher power. And I would cry and kiss the ground at my therapist’s feet and run into the street, singing my song from my soul.
But that’s a big perhaps.
And I can tell you right now, I am not convinced.
_______________________________
Quick quick quick
I have things to do, my brain says.
No time for feeling and for writing,
Just enough time to feel strange.
Head is empty, head is full.
Heart is pounding. I need to
Drink less caffeine, but i’m so
Tired all the time. So what do i do?
Simply fall asleep and
Forget it all.
_______________________________
Words slanting down
The page like beads
Falling off a cord
One by one
In slow motion. Each
Bead hitting the ground
With an enormous
Crash. Much louder than
Physically possible. But
Reality has been suspended
And i’ve come to accept that.
_______________________________
The expansion and contraction of time is a tricky trail to traverse. Long ago–or what I’ve come to understand as long ago–time moved at a snail’s pace.
Are we there yet
Are we there yet
Are we there yet
Are we are we are we are we
We are.
From the moment I understood and possessed consciousness, I thought I was waiting for my life to begin, but what I've come to discover is that my life began before I ever existed. I can be traced back through genealogy, through geography, through customs, cultures, conditioning, through behaviors, choices, ideas, and beliefs.
All of these have been complexly intertwining and forming me for years and decades and centuries beyond my comprehension. To know there has been such care and craft taken into account by the universe to get me here in this very moment and in this very form feels like a mother draping a large quilt over her daughter’s bare body. It feels like a squeeze on the shoulder and a kiss on the forehead. It feels like a whispered “goodnight” before a flick of the lights and a quiet close of the door.
So now, I exhale a sigh of relief in the face of a tumultuous world, where time expands and shrinks in unexpected ways, because the blanket is on my shoulders; because I’ve never really been waiting; because we are there.