into the grey
There is a great deal of bated breath around my loved ones these days. The momentum of news, the fear of the good, the disappointment of the bad, the indecision of the universe.
Journal Entry
30 January 2011
And in the reception room of existence
Deciding to hope against the annoyance of sitting still
Suffocating under the potential of our name being next.
Rushing to the prognosis. It will be, as it always is...
YOU.WILL.BE.FINE.
Human's are resilient little fuckers, but who do they think they are...coming and going as they please?
We were made with ambitions, with dreams, with the expectation that life will bring forth new life. We want so badly. Why do I so badly want to possess these dreams? Why can't they be like art...beauty for beauty's sake, unspoiled with human stain? Is it therefore wise to suspend our desires? Or is that cynical? Do we decide not to hope either way because we are emotionally terrified or is it because we are emotionally lazy? I advise my dearest ones to suspend their feelings, but I think that's because I am petrified of picking up the pieces of their disappointment...that I will feel responsible for their pain. They need to feel it. I need to let them.
There is some sort of urgent dread birthing in my being.
I am looking for answers.
Well, one answer, really.
It's no longer IF I want ___.
But WHY I want ___.
And this is an answer I must come to before proceeding.
While I seek this, life still happens. Birth, death. Requests, rejections.
My family of friends and kin are pursuing their lives with bated breath.
They move to a new home.
They take their first steps.
They begin a family.
They apply to their future.
There is loss in the hope.
The risk is great.
The reward, better.
I promise, Red.
I promise.
And loss is such a curious way to describe death.
It's not a pair of keys, for fuck's sake.
We cannot throw back the cushions
or tear apart the back seat.
We can do nothing.
For now, I enter a grey cloud.
The pain is this big cozy cowl my mom made me.
And I will feel it.
I am not scared.
But I shake like hell in my boots.
5 comments:
If only tearing up the couch would bring them back.
I'll be praying for you dear one.
Emily
Oof baby girl, I shall too pray for some comfort for your soul.
Fear of hoping. Determination to keep doing it anyway. Wanting to be prepared for disappointment, wanting to be emotionally responsible. But still wanting to be damned excited. "To soar up on the wings of anticipation"
I love you. I love your journey. I love you too, Red. Wish I could BE with you.
The ennui comes now like cold waves at my feet. I lose my breath for a moment as the chill seizes my lungs. I remember how happy I was and how the source of that joy is now the fountain of my sorrow.
But, like the tide, it retreats and I feel the sun again. What threatens to destroy me lingers only long enough to halt my step, purge my grief and sharpen the ache as a deserving recollection of my loss.
All of this greatly eased by your words and presence.
Probably the truest thing you've ever written.
x
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