Yuck.
That's really all there is to say about that.
Like layers of paint on a canvas, color over color over color thick mess of crap.
(Hmm sounds a bit like anger is still around)
I keep wanting to be done with it all and then immediatly turn around and cling to the grief like some perverse life raft.
If I'm still grieving he's still present in me somehow.
I write that and Goddess knows, I know I'm not the only one who's felt this way.
But I don't want to cry and be taken care of, and I don't want to yell "why"
cause, -duh, -mortal
And then I want to be a little girl who can simply be hushed back to sleep cause it's all a bad dream.
Wow, does this suck.
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Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
- Mary Oliver
stirring, tasting, stirring, sometimes drowning....
if you've seen Harold and Maude...
In Blackwater Woods
Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars
of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,
the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders
of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is
nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned
in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side
is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
- Mary Oliver
Drowning Moon
Seastar
cauldron boil and cauldron bubble
tattoo musings
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