New modes of sadness.
1. Holding on to a small flower
2. Chin placed on tired hands
3. Eyes looking through windows, hoping to see something new.
4. Chest constricting with each clumsy movement.
These new modes of sadness touch the core and come in undulating waves in the darkened sea reflecting the black sky. The stars hide, unprepared for viewing and guiding lost mariners at sea. My new modes of sadness trouble me quietly, and I am stuck beneath a continuously crashing wave.
Sometimes it’s about taking that step back when it all seems so fast and perhaps it’s about refusing to move forward when there’s ill-will on the road. Yet many times I find myself in a saddened stupor and how do I get out? And at times when all looks to be white roses it’s truly bones and snow and something must budge before the road gets trampled with escape.
You had your drink and I had my things and together it made for turmoil. I was so tired and you full of desire that there was little left to show. Some god must have known how to have thrown in the towel as we sat patiently waiting. Then life caught up and anger welled as we were fraught with tension.
There were little things to hate here and there, yet nothing could equate to the frustrating fares of this life. I only remember hating the drinks and you being done with my things until the next morning.
Your crippling depression brings all of those around you to their knees and so you’ve turned to holding the whip of superficiality and now that’s all that you live for. You know this is about you and yet you pretend to misunderstand and you believe yourself above the clouds, immaculate because of your strife. In your eyes, you were dealt a lot in life that should have never been dealt to you and sure, you’ve been kind… to those outside of your circle—those who are appeased like fickle gods by vanity. I hope you know that you were needed, but somehow those that needed you earned a lesser value than those that emotionally obscured you, emotionally abused you. I also needed you once, but now I realize that I don’t need much at all and I guess I’ll keep living my life because I cannot stand to wait for your affection. Perhaps we’ll never form a deep connection and on our deathbeds will lie unfinished business, but I guess that’s the price to pay for broken families.
It was the first day of limited conversation and prophetic longing. The first day at the bed laying in emptiness and hidden worlds of turmoil. It was the 21st day of the year that felt like the last paragraph at the end of a book’s chapter that released its reader on a sad note. It was cold in this room, an iciness in the Florida weather and my daughters of the moon kept their own company. But you see, here I lay thinking of my days and heart shrinking.
There is strength in knowing that you’ve traveled far and true in the realms of what it means to be a human in hurt. There’s a certain relief at the resignation of knowing that the Earth will continue to orbit around a sun that has yet to burn out for eons to come. There is purity in knowing that the wind can quell your sorrows and place your anxieties to sleep if you give it that power. There is a cleansing in cold rain drenching your clothes in a downpour if you lend your muscles to the power of nature so that they may relax. No matter what tribulations you journey through remember that your heart is still beating with the hum of the Earth and your breath inundates your lungs like a transparent and active ocean.
I just didn’t mind the aching muscles and tired temples right before the dawn. I wanted to explore new territory and to challenge myself and those around me to be a little nicer. Then extraneous variables somehow seeped into the mix and turned a yellow morning into a cloudy, yet boiling afternoon. I wanted to stand up for myself then—stand on a mountain and let my voice echo my truths and experiences in dealing with angry faces and curdled lips because their voices were acrid and their chests were a graveyard of worms because even they could not get nutrition from that rancor. Who knows? Perhaps I still will let my words crash into their ears like heavy waves against the cliffs, deafening all else.
Underneath the full moon I muster all the strength required of oceans to swish into shores in darkness. The sands by my feet are velvet as my night-lantern guides me from the sky. Goddess power flows through outstretched hands, permeating the salt crystals in the air. My skin glistens with dew and light and within me a light shines outward. A third eye opens and looks steadily into the shadows cast by the moonlight and within me courses knowledge of secret enchantments long-quieted by witches securing the secret of their craft. They tell me know the things I must know. The shadows come into light—moon goddess.
Sweetheart, I’m tired. It feels as if I can only go down under from here. So take me to these depths and lay me down to rest so that maybe soon enough I’ll grow again. I hope my soul returns in leaves and hearty stems leading into blooms. Just don’t be shocked if I leave soon.
Don’t think of me as a sad memory, but see me on the days I danced gleefully. Laugh of joy in my memory and pray to the flowers in my place. These things you can’t escape, you can only embrace.
The only thing that anchors me to small islands is the pleasure of the waves. In fact, it’s often easy to swim offshore until the ripples of the water lure me back to land, but small islands don’t fill large souls and they are insufficient and emptying. I have always been a creature of the water—free flowing and cool to the touch. With each passing day, I’m more at ease as I swim out a little farther each time. Soon small islands will fade into the horizon and I will swim to new shores or perhaps I’ll reach depths previously untraveled and will dwell in its hypnotic embrace.