The creature

There is something inside me…but I can’t seem to find it. It is elusive; sliding in and out of my thoughts. I feel it yearning to breathe, to find words and clarity to its existence. It seethes and writhes and fuels some still unknown fear and hurt and want. I need to touch it, to feel it upon my fingers and tongue, to speak the name of the demon inside yet I fail to wrestle it down, to contain it within a single idea or event or person.

I hurt so badly sometimes and I am so afraid at others. My voice has fallen silent; blocked by this unknown adversary that I feel inside dropping weights into my stomach, bringing tears to my eyes, and wanting to be heard. Trying to bring my journey to life, I am impeded by this sensation of longing the creature instills in me. I read the words of others and feel as if I will burst at the seams if my voice stays pushed below. The monster insists on being the first story told…yet I cannot find the words to do so. The walk I have to share, of loss, of fright, of triumph, of the smells and sounds and fatigue of death, threatens to be lost to the need to continue on while this demon silences me as it pushes actively for freedom from my soul. How can I fight with words that which remains nameless and isolating?

I’ve tried to appease this foe into submission, to lull it to sleep with soothing words of denial. The lies used to cover up its existence prove to enrage the beast, feeding its fires of dissatisfaction and pushing it more quickly towards rebellion. The creature gnaws at my dishonesties and attempts to force my wholeness. The creature fills the void that I refuse to recognize; that I cover up with niceties. I keep the creature inside to protect myself and others from its very being,
        from what it means that I must live without,
                and how I must slowly rediscover who I am.

So the first truth uttered; that which will release both the monster and myself, is this…

I have a hole that cannot be filled but I continue to breathe

As the Earth turns

The world turned today...and against the turning I shut my eyes; shut them tight against the day, against all that I heard I refused to see. The turning knocked from their shelves the pictures and the memories that were just starting to re-find their home. For this turning has happened before. The world before has shifted on its axis and knocked all we knew to the floor. This time things have shattered. The feel the broken shards cutting into my feet. Where do we turn when we can barely move?

I am afraid. Afraid to leave and afraid to stay. I cannot ask questions for fear of the answers I might receive. Normalcy is gone so we quickly reconstruct a new one.

I walk down the street and I don't see the force that others' steps require. My steps are calculated, labored, and enduring. I take pride that the others don't see this, yet I want them to understand all the same. I walk my walk with frequent trips to the back of my mind where my troubles lie in wait. Do I gain strength from these creeping worries or do they slowly tighten the cord they have around my body while I ignore their cries? I invite few into that land of troubles, beyond the facts beyond the figures, where the fear lies in expectant fury. Will it pounce, destroying all I have built to survive and to hide behind? Am I ready for disaster or waiting for my own miserable loss of power?

The questions are the worst. They cause me to grieve that which I still have to lose and question that which is already gone. But where will I be when the questioned is answered and the truth splayed for all to see? Across the headlines my heart will sit as the Earth settles into its new rotation.

Scream to survive

Sometimes I want to scream. Scream, scream, scream about all the times you screamed at me. Scream out every awful word and scream out every glare. Scream out every time you made me cower in fear. Scream out all the times I just gave in. Scream out all the times I turned my back to them. Scream out all the thoughts of disappoint and rage. Scream out all the confusion and sadness and loneliness that you created. Scream at the way I let myself become. Scream for every time I listened to you and lied to them. Scream until it all comes rushing out at once, til there is nothing left but whom I was before I had to scream to survive.

Must we be broken hearted to feel

We unfeelingly move through the streets. Questioning motives and belittling battles with no information of those around us, but the look on their faces and the shoes on their feet. We pass the heroes and villains of society unflinchingly. Staying in between the broken and the whole, the storm and the calm, the alone and the unified, we avoid pain. Life’s injustices are lost amid the ticking of seconds. Unnoticed in the confusion. No screams of outrage. No movement to the extremes of our emotional limits. No movement of any kind. Afraid to feel alive for fear of experiencing weakness, we become lost.

Must we be broken hearted to feel? Must we see the storm to experience the calm? Must we be alone, in order to really be together? Must injustice take away everything from one, so that others may move freely? Must we drift in order to find purpose?

Leaving this realm of safe apathy, we succumb to the world. By leaving the middle, we inevitably choose sides. We inevitably fail and we inevitably succeed. The lows of life experienced with such intensity as to rival the highs. But the feeling of desolation, of rock bottom, brings out an undeniable passion. We move with renewed purpose and intensity. In loneliness we inevitably find companionship. Outrage inspires action, tears fueling fire and contention. Through experienced injustice, voices raise calling for change. Through bursts of humanity the drifter finds a home, a mission. Toeing the boundaries of our sentiments we seek to find ourselves again. From the depths of despair and the pinnacles of triumph, we risk it all, in order to have anything at all to risk.

Ready this time

The three women talked about various stages of life. About how they had, or had not been prepared for whatever turn life had taken. They talked of nights of love, nights of fear, nights of pain, and nights of happiness. Some of these nights had been shared, and others were recounted with great detail, sending shrieks of laughter or soothing remarks into the space between them. The women talked for a long time; the air eventually becoming still around them, the city noises seeming further and further away from their private conversation. After a long silence she began to speak. She seemed nervous yet relieved. The wind blew across her face, her hair distorting her features as she revealed her musings.

“People have come and gone in my life. With them I’ve been sometimes reckless, sometimes prudent. I’ve sometimes been able to dream as I wished, and sometimes have had to guard my dreams close. They have all left a different impact on my life….but I have rarely been ready for the way they would challenge my perspective…”

For the next few hours the girls laughed and cried together as contemplations of life and love danced around their heads. Questioning the impacts of the passing of people through their lives and confronting the force that circumstance plays, left them pensive and quietly restless. Bursts of silent agitation crept into their voices as they debated their ability to govern their own lives and gain the most from their experiences.

“How much of our story is dictated by others?” that first woman finally asked. “How much can we gain from someone’s presence in our life if we are unknowingly unable to understand the impact they can have?” After a few moments of silence, another replied, “You take what you can from the pieces of humanity that you encounter and together we’ll all move through life.” The first woman considered this for a second and then smiled. “I’m ready this time,” she said.

Land of in between

An interesting land of in between; where grief seems just around the corner and somehow ever present at the same time, where love seeps from our bodies in laughter and smiles, where we confront and accept the pain in the same instant. We have always lived together, but it has never been truer than in this time. We have always felt one another’s pain, but it has never been truer than in this time. The realization that there is so much to take from right now, so much still to gain. Wanting you to see me as I am. Wanting to be all that I am, and learn from all that you are. Wanting to laugh every second that we share.

This land of in between offers all of these things. Reality seems halted and yet it continues harshly onward. Time hovers in this land of after and before, as we find our dreams for the first time, as we confront those things which have always scared us. We feel alive in this land, and united together. We are going different places, but we finally go together. We continue in our own ways, stumbling, yet carrying along the way a new strength.

This land of in between is lonely from afar, as little battles are easily hidden by distance. I have my own, as they have theirs, and then we reunite once again in love. It is true though, spirits are forever intertwined, forever woven through stories and memories. Do you know, little one, how powerful this is? Do you know what force this has given you? Hopefully you will realize one day, hopefully we all will.

Content to just sit and listen

He wore almost all his possessions around his neck but walked with no sense of burden. The straps criss-crossing his chest seemingly holding him together as opposed to weighing him down.

What connections did he have to the stories we told one another? Critically I would say very few...yet phrases from his mouth conjured images of a far away time of stability and hope. As the three of us sat on the couch I watched him. The way he moved and spoke was different then I had seen before. He displayed personality and individual thought; everything that before had been shadowed by the cloak we all gave him.

It all made me wonder how he got here. What could have possibly happened to his man to produce the homeless person before me, capable of speaking to a total stranger; making comparisons between our lives so superficial and yet all he had to give. I listened, transfixed by every word. I focused my concentration as if on a child describing something they had discovered about the world. But a child has limited glimpses of this world. This man has met hundreds of people, done hundreds of things, yet he sat before me in a confusing state of limbo. All innocence gone but so ignorant (or oblivious or not caring) about the society around him.

Where does someone, such as this man, belong? In the land of civilized children there is no room for his profane crudeness. In the land of civilized adults there is no room for his unknowing inattention to the rule book of society's norms.

And so he comes and sits on the couches of society and he adds his two cents when given the right encouragement. As he spoke I felt as if listening to something profound, though an outsider listening in may not have agreed. What he gave me came from all that he had to give, and I felt content to just sit and listen.