A Cold Day in April

Here, in this familiar place of awkward frustration and regret, my only response is "I knew better but hoped for better." I could always just return to sender the ill intent of well-done liars. But I didn't. I take full blame for my aggravation. Lets align what shall happen from here on out: When goaded with nonesense wrapped in pity-parties, send them to church. "Pray for your troubles!" I'll say, and honestly I will pray for them after all. I own no stake in the fate of others, nor should I be willing to burden anyone with my rationale. I have just one first name and one last name, like so many others. I am powerless. My strenght is in my resolve, and today I resolve to cease fighting. Repeating the same action hoping for alternate results has a particular definition. Man Down.

Wild Ride

Its a wild ride from the hereafter to present times. In my personal hereafter I don't know what the ground feels like, I'm encumbered with the tasks of tasting air and forgetting sins. Digging my toes in my own dirt is a hobby i no longer condone, didn't serve my present presence any good. Id just have to keep cleaning the old dirt off after I just remembered that I cleaned it already. Like worry and a rocking chair, that old dirt just wasted my good time energy. And repeatedly sullied my hands. So instead of travelling with old habits, I'm inhaling different strategies one atmosphere at a time. At first like any new tasks faced with probable failure, the old familiar soil seemed a bit more comforting. Maybe just another taste of horror to bring flush the regresses of my days behind me.. Repeating old actions basically sums up simple math of how two sums in error will always equal a whole defeat. And stubborn heads in summation require many bumps. Somewhere down my red brick road: I had enough. I had enough of Enough and wanted extra. Into the extraordinary I gasped full speed into mistakes, errors, mishaps, and stubbed-toes. Never stopping because of fear but stopping often because I was tired. At some point it'll all have to fit, my puzzle piece life. Dirt and all. Gasps and all. All in all, its a wild ride.

warm.

I would regard you like a long awaited weekend. 

The evening still and warm; my favorite.

Your tease of a cool breeze and tender starlight would get me everytime. 

A subtle dance of swirled ice cubes and cheap bubbles and man I'd swear I was flying 

And nothing was wrong. 

You were my last great love affair.

Rudely the sun rewinds on it's dutiful time piece. 

I'm searching again for my favorite moments. 

But something is missing!

Simply I've stumbled, tumbled, and rolled belly up into a maze.

One end holds my fear. The other holds what I love. 

But what I fear is what I love and to love organically is to be fearless;

So which way am I to land while still strangely hung up on that wistfully perfect moment? My favorite. 

drip.

Oh baby I just wanna drown in your unselfishness, swallow up your insecurities and let your weird ways carry me in rhythm to the beat of your drum.

Let the waves of obscurity cease at the crease of your wonton smile.

If I can't breath that's fine don't worry! 

I don't want to miss a second of being submerged in whatever abyss I find you in. Slowly through the darkness of unknown comfort yet trusting grasp, the rising possibility that 'everything will be ok' buoys me past the break of despair to be met with confident love and affection. 

One deep breath of cool crisp circumstance shoots like lightening from bow to stern, propped afloat my own stream of constant indifference. Finally! 

 If this is all fear has to offer then I suppose it was all very worth it.

That Ol' Thang

Just when things seem to be proportionately swell: [job(s) are pleasant, people in my life loving, bed warm and belly full] 

off in the horizon, just beyond the river bend and downtown boogie ave comes blindsided slaughter of euphoria. Death. 

Having barely navigated the jungle of grief these past 9 months and seeing that comforting EXIT sign like turning down my block after a long night- I find myself completely lost in sadness again. 

Hold up. 

Not lost like "How am I gonna survive this" lost. 

But "How do I make it out THIS time?" lost. 

"Do I have enough gas left?" lost.

"Why am I back here?" lost.

"How many more times.." lost.

"God I am not strong enough." lost.

This whole experience of loss in two's is new and quite frankly the worst. I have nothing in my past to compare it too, and to ask people of their own experience makes it hurt even more. Their genuine and often unrefined emotions about the losses of loved ones stings like a paper cut I'm reminded of under hot water. Years later and the scar is still seen and felt. 

I fear that this not only will break me but also will repeat itself. And THAT will bend me to splinters. 

Of course I am rambling. That's what grief does- I'm spilling over with wayward, forceful emotions that are engaged without a destination. Their tenacity is intimidating and often wonder if this is at all my reality or have I finally cracked. Reality so damn full of hurt and unattainable salve that this must be a movie and I am just dreaming in playbacks. Reruns of "Worst Case Scenarios" staring me in a visionary nightmare. 

Nah Fam- it's just me and facts.

Of course I'm projecting like a mutha, but like the fitty-11 stages of grief I'm just treading water through all of them. Keeping my head barely above water, but still not falling under. The waves will come, that's a promise. I'll just keep kicking? 

To Find

As things normaly go: 

What is missed is searched, and what you find is a discovery. 

So when I find something familiar in an unfamiliar place (usually unexpected but profoundly in need) the question of "Why This; Why Now?" is answered in the discovery itself. 

Something like seeing the lesson in all things green in equal magnitude. 

Those days when I cant love myself- love finds me. When I can't find laughter, I'm suddenly surrounded by it. 

Or on the dreary side: a tidal wave of friends loosing friends isn't me wishing to deal cards with the devil. In grief there is a feeling of overwhelming hopelessness and sadness- in these seemingly historic lows of existence comes a flush of (wait for it) purpose and joy. 

I sound crazy; that's how you know it's true.

Just as being swept off your feet is a reminder to stay grounded while dreaming, a scrape and a bruise wakes you up from the present cirsumstances of a nightmare. 

How nice that neither scenario stains too deeply that it cannot be rinsed new.

Passengers

Been a belaboring few days.

Tense shoulders and back, achy joints and a horribly busy mind.
Did the very things that normally cool down my overheated countenance but I was still scrambling for an answer.

This burden of frustration was getting heavy. It stunk and seeped all over all my nice things.  I couldn't bleach the stains, and not enough Tide rinses to handle the rest. I felt ashamed.  More than anything I was just tired. Tired of this heavy-metal, cumbersome "whatchamacallit".  I just wanted to be free.

So now-
Laying in stillness and all its splendor I finally have a clear moment to see the gold that shimmers all around me.  And some silver too.
I dropped my luggage of sickness at the doors of Choice and opened the door that read "Humble". With Humility the next door read "Acceptance" and it was a heavy drag but with some sweat I emerged. With one final grunt, I found it.
Love.
Love wrapped me so tight that I couldn't fight my way out of it, even though that wretched misery was starting to feel familiar.
Now I am ok, pleasant. No exaggerated worries to grimace at or wacky grins to laugh at. But this love all around me has cling to my hardest components and soothed every callous from carrying that unnecessary luggage.

Lesson Learned: when Lost, look for Love.