And what steps will I take today…
To feel real and find my way back to normal?
Moving from moment to moment
Capturing a bit of this and caring
People try to help. Smile and laugh and talk.
Like nourishment and sunlight
Sometimes I walk and breathe because it is all I can do to feel like I am at peace.
But really as a function of healing, the deliberate recuperation, the painful physical therapy of the soul… It’s slow and painful work that sometimes seems like… like futility.
Like a ninja in clown shoes
or a cat on tiny roller skates.
What will make this okay
And turn my sorrow to joy?
And sense and purpose
It has to be more than just activity and distraction
And grieving is like those white marble angel statues
Stained with soot and rain.
Or a well worn wooden hand rail.
And what is it that makes everything feel heavy?
That steals my breath and takes me back to tears?
And makes every step and every smile feel like work?
Is it how much I miss him?
Working it… like solving a puzzle.
Journal my feelings.
Thinking all the time of form and grammar…
Examining every peace
Of heart and soul and experience.
This empty place deep in my being
is the search for meaning.
This open wound and shattered heart
is the quest for comfort.
This call of numbness and cold wet fog
is the desire for purpose.
Wrap around you like an old stiff blanket of course wool.
A blanket never long enough to cover your feet.
These are the memories… happy and sad. And whatever they give me…
And I do feel like I am flapping my hand in futility
There is no path. No magic dance. No words.
Waving a pen or a paintbrush
And looking at the subtle gradations in sky and cloud
And searching for that thing
To a pit that knows no bottom
That has no meaning
That turns sorrow into more sorrow
And yet I am thankful
And dependent on the love of others.