Showing posts with label mourning. Show all posts

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.

one gray monday


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.


a curious way to deal with death
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.
hope loss mourning
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GOOD IN THE MIDST

one
step
forward

two million
beats
around the
bush

scribbles and scratches and records of validation.
write.
write, my sweet sister.

but there is good.
good in the misty fog.
good in the sunshine.
good in the sweetest of baby girls.

good in the mid-century modern
and good in strawberries.

and when there are so many things to miss,
and so many new reasons to be angry,
and so many questions,
and so many unconscionable answers,
and so many voices to filter,
and so many reflections to combat,
and so many points of order to attend to,
and so much future to be afraid of,
and so much past to be rehashed,
and so many bottles to wash.
and so little sleep to be had.



this goodness reminds three lovely ladies that
always,
forever and ever
there is
new growth.
and there will be new
things to miss,
questions to pose,
reflections to love,
answers to be found,
american spirits to be ignited,
sleep to be slept,
 and voices to love.


On the back-porch of our eternity,
in the bottom of our bottles,
in the packs of smokes...
we shall recover. I just know it.

From this fire, she emerges so kind, so calm, so soft, so empowered.


And she even let me borrow her shirt.
Full well knowing I ruin all her clothes.

You, my big sister,
you are still one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen...
Since first I began to see.
And saw you looking down at me with those big, kind eyes.

May our minds be kind to us.
~crm
change mourning teresa
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