the ache in wide open space, begging to be filled. The beating drums of reality resonating off the damaged walls and bouncing from the other side. Loud and echoing and obnoxious in its volume. the silence deafening in the background and the inbetween. one being rocking against a cracked corner, hands unable to shield the sound that leaves bleeding ears and shaking limbs. so small in this space so vast, the other side can’t be seen. Just ache and emptiness and fullness all at once. Bones rejecting the melody of pain, muscles strapped from the scrape of soul escaping the body and running for cover. A mind, barely able to concentrate on thought, desperately trying to develop a plan of escape and only barely able to focus on survival alone.
it is the depths I fear. Traveling the road ahead that leads me to all the places I do not wish to visit, but know I must stop at on my way. To gather supplies for my journey and to meet with demons I have known before. So I stepped forward through knotted vines and held splitting bark on my way to my first stop. my footing lost so many times. I struggled for balance as my head spinned and fear pulsed louder than my words of self comfort. But I stretched and pulled until I found the small cottage in the woods with the smoking chimney and broken door. Promising easy entry and zero safety. I entered with a knock, not even knowing if an answer would be had, but certain i had to enter. The shallow breath behind the door cracked it slightly for me, my fear lightening as I realized this demon feared me more than I feared her. She shriveled under long stringy, unkept hair, falling over her face, shadowing her eyes that never dared look at mine. Her full gown of tattered cotton told me stories of a life seeking comfort and warmth, yet finding harm and leaving these missions battered and worn and worse for the experience. her shoulders hunched from years of carrying a weight her frame was never meant to support. her hands hard and cracked and still somehow fragile and gentle. She shuffled with an uncertainty and a distrust that made me wish to sweep her up and hug her, but I knew she would never know how to receive my gift. So I followed slowly, leaving a distance to allow her safety, towards the warmth of the hearth I know she prepared special for me in anticipation of my arrival. I smelled the sage and bay leaves she added, and appreciated that she cared for me in that way. I let her sit first, her body fallen onto a pillow on the floor, knees to chest. Handing me a soft blanket, she wrapped one around herself, leaving just her face exposed (if shaded in hair truly counts as exposed) in hopes she could tranform into nothingness to avoid being seen. I know this well. So I let her silence fill the room and mix with my own, and our bond grew in energy and without words to pressure the moments. The more time we spent there, the more I understood what I was there for. To see her when she hid. To value her when she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the background. To love her when she couldnt find the love for herself. I spent the entire night there. To avoid the treacherous road in the dark and to enjoy the tranquility that only staring into a fire can provide. I felt safe inside, even with a door that refused to do its job, but I didn’t want to leave her alone there. I handed her my bag, an offer to add some things and travel with me. She looked down and softly shook her head in reluctant refusal. I understood. I was no more ready to spend that kind of time with her than she was me. I rose up to leave, and I saw her eager lips part to speak, but she quickly caught herself. I knew her need to speak quick and frantic, to tell of all her emotion without a thought of how it would be received. And her remembrance that it usually ended with her feeling ashamed and embarrassed, and the receiver of her words smiling softly as they struggled to find kind words to say good bye. She simply grabbed my hand and squeezed, refused the return of the blanket I had come to depend upon for false protection, and opened the door for me. We avoided looking at each other, both crying. As I walked, I heard all she wished to say as whispers in the wind. She want to know love. She wanted to feel worthy of love. She hated herself for having need and for the times she spoke of those needs. The shame she felt around being too much and thus not good enough. For wanting attention. For needing affection. For wishing for loving hands and affectionate eyes. For feeling selfish when being disappointed by reluctant embraces and hard stares. Her words flowed from the winds through my veins in perfect connection, chilling me to the bone with the feelings of neglect and lack and not good enough. I cried them back out. I tried. But so much remained, scratching my insides, sandpaper and grits, painful and constant. I begged her to stop. I promised to meet her again. I meant it. I assured her it was not good bye, but I was tired from a day and night of no sleep and dangerous travel, and the emotions she was drawing were cutting, and making movement difficult. She wished me well, as I felt her pull back into hiding. I missed her presence immediately, but knew I had to let her go for now.
The waves of life instantly fall to darkness.
The waters treacherous.
The only question is whether to watch as the waves pound the deck,
Threatening with every drip the imminent sinking that it intends to deliver.
Promising destruction and devastation.
Testing to see if you have the guts to watch or will cower and run for cover.
Either way, the result will be the same.
It’s just how you will go down.
Still fighting and hoping,
Or crying, scrunched up in a ball, water rising inch by inch up a shaking, terrified body.
Watch every wave.
If it is going to sink you, you watch it, and you make it watch you.
Do not fall easily to the ground and cover your wounded face so it can throw blows to your back.
Watch it. Let it see your pain. Let it see your tears.
Allow your tears to warm it’s cold blows to your heart.
No. If you are going down, have your eyes wide open.
And even if you know you have limited time, spend it preparing your survival.
Just in case.
Just in case the sun fights back,
Jamming its way through the darkness, calming the waves.
Just in case.
Just in case the waves remember how much they truly loved carrying you.
How much they would miss the taste of your tears.
Just in case.
Just in case you still want to float along the open sea.
Just in case you find you desperately want to plant your feet back on solid ground.
Just in case you find you have a choice.
I can not save the world today. I can not save you. I may not be able save me. I can not be all I am, because I am too determined to deny parts of me. Therefore you will not be tolerated. Can not be tolerated. Your cute little quirks will wander around under my skin, digging painful little caves that no amount of scratching or digging at can erase, because my own are still eating away at my flesh from the inside out. I can not provide you with perfect love, cloaking you in the warmth of my deep affection for you. I can not because I have prepared for myself a steel wool head wrap and covered my body in barbed wire fencing. So you will not be well served to approach my door with hope and a smile. You will likely be burned by the anger you find on the door knob. If you are so brave as to enter, you will be greeted with impatience instead of acceptance, annoyance instead of compassion. For this I apologize. It is not you. It is me I am angry with. So if I retreat into my own world, trust I am not there to dig into my sorrows but to try to love them. I am not trying to push you away but to push into myself deeper. There is room for everyone at my home deep within, so I will be headed there right away. Give me a bit to arrive and get comfortable and set a place for you. There, you will be welcome to join me, to show up as you are. I will have no expectations for you, no anger with you, no fear of what you may do to me. I will love you in your entirety. Here is not the place for coffee and conversation. Here is dirty and the air is too thick for comfortable breathing. So give me just a bit to prepare. To be still. To go home. And I will call you when I am ready to receive you. When I am prepared to give of myself the way you deserve for me to show up for you. As I am. In love with me. In love with you.
You can find me here
Fallen too deep in my own thoughts to notice the madness
Beautiful manifestations in the making interrupted by the distractions of the world
A life that should be given far more attention
That is desperately in need of more intention
Of a major creative focus
Of a major dumping of excess
Of a ferocious clearing of space
To open room for my souls expansion
The pulsing need for breaking through to a wider space thumping against my being
So loud I can barely hear anything else above its pounding demands
Leaving me emotionally depleted
Yet strangely fulfilled
In need of a quiet break
Yet desperately behind on magic making
You can find me here
Until my task is completed