Friday, November 25, 2011

A Second Wave

The second wave of grief threatens to overcome me. I can feel the sand move beneath my feet. As it shifts, I become more fixed in place. I am watching the water move farther and farther away from me and in the distance I can see a tidal wave forming. It will come crashing down upon me. I'd like to move to higher ground, but my feet have sunk into the sand so deep that I cannot lift them. I am helpless. Only able to stare and wait for the second wave to come while gulls shriek above me.

It's the holidays, I suppose, that pulls the water out to sea. Or the increasing isolation, as I become the only mother of only dead children I know. The pain of having no new stories is exhausting. Remembering has comforted me for four years and making meaning has aided as well. Reflection brings numbness now, rather than enlightenment. My feet sink deeper. The wave grows higher. The sky darker.

I want to talk and write about Caitlin and I don't. I'm stuck. Perhaps I should welcome this wave. It may take me out to sea. It may toss me toward new horizons.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

My Show is On

What's the point?
This "life thing." I'm not being facetious or provocative.
No dark humor here--There are days, I truly don't get the intended point.

Driving across the DE bridge, I see the signs, "If you are in distress call."
But, I've been in distress for several years and wonder:
What call?
Call who?
Why call?
So they can save me?

I can't call, I'm supposed to pull myself up by my bootstraps.
You know: 1) dig deep, 2) have faith, 3) count my blessings 4) Accept that the Fault lies with me.
Always  . . . only unto the evil thereof.
You know, I deserve what I get an' such, and I've done nothing that deserves anything better.

Such tunnel vision . . . as if it were only about me.
What happened only affects me and was only prompted by me and can only be corrected by me.

More like funnel vision.

Eh, this line of thought . . .


That brief moment of free flight, is but an illusion of liberation, a mere hope of eternity, an unanswerable question of significance.

Perhaps, seeking the answer is worth it?
If one knew that Chaos would end with an eternal caesura. Ah, but would Bliss follow?

And, what poses these questions?
It is the longing
the wishing
the hoping
the desire
for stasis.

What's the intended point?
I need sleep.
A drink.
Or some effective anti-depressents
But, above all . . .
what's the intended point?
I know better than to look somewhere without for meaning.

And . . . sorry to say, the God doesn't aid in meaning-making.
I'm better off speaking with Him personally than waiting for the unknowable answer. Or listening to others tell me what God means.

And my faith tells me that if he is a He, then questioning is a problem.
If we are to stick to the Patriarch then merely asking the question is problematic.
Silence from the original sinner is expected. So, best to forget about it, and Just Obey, right?

I am expected to have no thought. I am expected to be comforted with no explanation. I am expected to wait until death to discover the reason. And be assured that that reason will, in fact, provide the comfort I seek. "Wait till I'm ready to tell you," all the while I praise for keeping me in the dark.

Perhaps in the free fall the waiting ceases, or ---  the Bluff is called.

I'm done. My show is on. I'll think on this another day.