sing a sweet song of catharsis

a bit of barely-edited work I wrote in writing group the last two hours. It endlessly fascinated me how three different prompts yield three different works, but there always seems to be a through-line. I never know my brain until I start writing, and even then...

1

the tendrils of our roots

intertwine. I don’t know

what’s yours

and what’s mine.

but we’re stitched together,

you and I

bound up like dry twigs

ready to burn with the world.

2

I know you are there.

Sometimes you’re the bird, and I’m the cage

and sometimes we switch

I don’t know which I like more

to hold you, or to be held

3

these steps to my heart are small,

like rungs of a dollhouse ladder.

you can scurry up them

and get here quickly.

and just as swiftly

you may also leave

4

There are ancient scrolls that say

many great things

many great things

many terrible things

about the world

how it was made, how it died

while God flew over

and watched us burn the world

over and over and over

and over and over and over and over

----

I was really going there.

Those were the two sides you needed

and I, of course, had been all of those.

It’s a dirty place, scattered and

I don’t remember thinking

"she’s just lost her mind"

I just think:

most of the good things

toward the end

was a bit like love

I didn’t cry

the first time I saw it.

I didn’t go up with tears

in my eyes

I said “Mine.”

You hated me for that

and I thought it too.

You said ,

“You only get an exciting chase

once.”

I could hardly breathe

I was just part of the landscape

along with drugs and a big glass ashtray

turned upside down.

You sat on a glacier

snorting cocaine

and I quit until I became sober enough

for you to stitch me

together

I should have done it

differently.

--

the bird cried

the ice caps are melting!

the ice caps are melting!

into the sea!

into the sea!

I was aware once

of things that brought me joy

I used to know how to fade like a gradient

into the background of the party

and be happy enough there

the textures of people places and things

adjusting, scooching, scraping in such a way

to make the world a bright light

you could see from space.

I was known once, by a man

who knew my name that no one else did

he asked me

min qalbi? Who is my heart?

in broken Arabic I answered “ana” “I am.” 

ana

min eayni? Who is my eyes?

ana

min habbi? Who is my love?

ana habibi.

min rruhi? Who is my soul?

ana

ana

ana

Then,

You went away, I do not know you.

You disappeared, melted, sunk, drowned

like those ice caps

just as the bird said:

into the sea!

into the sea!

min habbi alan?

min habbi alan?
 

who is my love now?

Operation GSD

Today I started physical therapy again. It’s been far too long, and my body has degraded again down to the functional mechanics of an 85 y/o. This year has been discouraging for so many reasons, some of which I am not ready to talk about yet. In time, I will, but it’s not time yet. Suffice it to say that physical ailments and mental health are very closely connected and affect each other greatly. And I still feel like the fixing needed to get my body back is so extreme it feels impossible. Pneumonia really knocked it out of me. I can’t reach my arms up to get a plate off the shelf. The idea of walking a few blocks sounds exhausting to even try. I get mad when I realize I left my phone upstairs and have to retrieve it when I’m already running late and I can’t just jaunt up the stairs.

I am apprehensive. I have hated this body I’m trapped in; it’s been a constant uphill battle that never seems to cease and desist, or even plateau. I’d take a plateau, honestly. But nope, pneumonia and seasonal depression etc. etc. have set me back to square one. Do not pass go, do not collect 100 dollars.

But I’m starting small. Very small. As in, take a deep breath, right now. Do it. Just pause everything, and do it. Done? No? Do it. Close your eyes and do it.

Okay good. We default to exist in such a small amount of breathing space. But there is something cleaning, refreshing, manually calming, that ‘turning the corner’ feeling that happens in that brief moment when you allow yourself to do nothing else but take a deep breath.

So, I’m starting there. Again. And I don’t know how many more times I will start again. But I can. Even if I’m faking it until I actually believe I can.

My life path has been divergent, to put it in one word. And I do struggle with feeling disappointed in myself, and generally not feeling like I exist at all or for any real purpose. Depression is an unruly animal. But I’m starting again. #OperationGSD. aka, Operation Get Shit Done. Whatever it takes. Here we go. Again. Goals, I’m coming for you. #GSD!

I am learning so much about myself and why and how I work (and don't work). I am trying to take every bit of knowledge, every insight, every critique, every hope and dream, every disappointment; and turn it into something beautiful. That's what this means to me. It's not easy. But I hear my Self say: Take a deep breath, right now. Now, get shit done.