Apr 20, 2015

Solid ground

It's easy to envy when other people walk on something solid. That there's a firm belief in something, a firm grounding in some value, that causes them to stand and smile. That they can smile and chime "hello" and have something sturdy to return to. That they've built a home, hammered in the nails.

When you are alone and the voices and nails and beliefs of other people fall away like dried flakes of skin, you see that you were nothing but a plastered patchwork of everyone else. When these patches fall away you are full of holes, and inside you is empty.

Even waves of overwhelming sadness is substance. Substance keeps you existing. If you can feel- if you have words- if you are hit with sheets of pain- you are still full. When you are angry, you are full. When you have treasure troves of knowledge that mean something personal to you. You are full. Being full fills you up with substance, whether sunshine or water or blood. What's difficult is being empty.

In your heart there is a hole. That hole transcends the world and realm that you know; you bleed into outer space. If you look closely into the hole you see galaxies far far away. Lots of empty space - darkness - weightlessness - if you are caught off-guard, it sucks everything out of you, a vacuum. Somewhere in your heart the loneliness of the universe, the blank space and the infinite emptiness, the nothingness calls out in grief to you. A gaping nothing. When you live in perspective of that emptiness, trudging through the day is hard. Doing things is hard, because everything is empty, as you are.

It's not a strong emptiness. Anything that's strong is substance. It simply is, and you can stuff the hole with things that look meaningful or things to help you cope but the hole sucks away and remains ever there. In perspective of it you are hollow.

Apr 5, 2015

the earth cracks and gives way to water

It comes creeping up at you again, as you lie on the couch reading an unbearably dense scholarly study on new religious movements. It knocks first, a small tickle at the little crevice in your heart, an invitation. And as soon as you look in its direction it gushes out of its corner in all eagerness, a tsunami that floods your mind. Memories of hands held, of heads on shoulders, of the eternity of a gaze. Of cooking together, cutting the onions and carrots and broccoli, of the outline of his back as he washed the dishes. Of wind in hair as you sat on the ledge and watched the night. Of the shape of his calves. You drown, helpless. The security of your head against the crook of his neck. On day one you cried. Now the heart is spent, too scared to let itself tremble, too tired for tears. An exhausted sailor washed ashore. You let the waves have their way.