I woke up at 3. Shaking, not being able to catch my breath. The vivid remnant of nightmares clinging to me like webbing.
I can still see the house I was in, ransacked, ripped apart. Daylight coming through the cracks in the window coverings, dust drifting through the air. Stale smell of inhabitants long gone – desperately trying to hide things like pictures and journals for safe keeping. Things that prove I existed. Knowing with certainty the zombies were coming. Coming to consume me as they had the things and people around me.
Pain singing through the areas of my body that in waking time is my reality. Only here the wounds are visible, bruising, blood, oozing disease dripping from the bandages.
In this dream I am aware I’ve been battling a long time. I feel my child is still alive in this wasteland. I am hiding these things for her. With hope she finds them, a record of the loving normalcy we had lived.
The exhaustion running deeply, the fear that I am loosing the battles, the outer and the inner.
Waking up, I felt nauseous, unable to shake the fear. My shoulder burning, my knee locked in a useless position. My mind racing to what the todays doctor appointment will reveal.
The deep disappointment of still living with the threat of illness, loss of income in a situation I can’t control. At the mercy of ‘the people out there’. The dream very much a mirror of how the constant hammer of daily life is chipping away at me.
So I am awake. Sitting in the dark of my living room. The sounds of my house humming along as it does at the witching our, the furnace and fridge, low buzzing filling the space. The cat crunching kibble, the puppy sighing and shifting in her blissful sleep. Not affected by the webbing of my dream, the anxiety monsters poking at me.
Me knowing in a matter of hours the people in this house will be up, navigating another day.
Still a slight shake of my hands. The paranoia that I may still yet disappear.
Trying to find, deep down inside the fortitude to face today. Another day of worrisome news, the hard to shake disappointment in humanity. Quick mental math, acknowledging the numbers out there vs the risk of leaving the house.
I must shake this off. I have people to care for. A job to do. Clients to treat, a class to lead. A child to parent. A partner to provide balance too. Friends to support and encourage. A life to live.
It is something that sustains me, it is something that heals me and when I don’t feel heard it as a way to make my voice amplified, to connect and not feel so stuck in my head.
There’s been points in my life where I stepped away from it, much to my detriment.
A few years back, with a renewed energy the stories began to pour out, I committed to working on the shadow side of myself, and from there a few narratives were born. There was some collaboration, tidal wave of inspiration and such trust that the stories and essays would flow.
While this particular bout of writer’s block feels like it came on just after the start of the pandemic, truly, when I look back, it has been a slow death since last fall.
First the fiction. There was the death of two cherished characters. They showed such promise and longevity, and were exhilarating to write.
But unfortunately that once promised epic story has became representative of what has become a bittersweet and painful period for me. In a tortuous narrative, (as devastating as I felt) they met their end. Silenced, stopped in mid journey. In the ether they now languish.
Though I did find the courage just before shut down to submit a short version to a few publications.
There has been a fair amount of interest in what may have come next and some suggestions for editing. The real possibilities to see it in print.
But now I am frozen. I can not bring myself to open the file, to polish it up and let it move forward. I did not anticipate how raw I still feel about all that was lost at that time, including the grief about the two leads. How much I miss them. How much they still have to say.
I’ve been able to hiccup some poems and the odd paragraph out, but even the ability to write essays has withered.
Those are my best connection to navigate the world around me and my mental health. But it has been near impossible to write anything I feel confident with.
I want to add hope, insight and support to the people that read my stuff. But all I can muster is despondent rage, and no adequate words to explain.
Life as we knew it has always had its hardships. But this global clusterfuck has added a layer of grimy soot that has not left anyone untouched.
I wait… wait for the words to come. I hope that there are characters choose to speak. I hope the characters ( myself) I laid waste to may someday forgive me. I wait for wisdom, knowledge and hope to share. I wait for the insight to be able to move through, over, under or around this block that feels insurmountable.
This is the best part of the morning. First light, just breaking the horizon. I close my eyes, the light breaking on to my face. My full trust that Thrakena will keep me safe.
It’s cold and clear up here. The light feels like fire on my face. There is silence, only broken by the gentle whoosh of my beasts great wings. Holding us steady in the air. She too holds an appreciation of the coming light. The heat suits her fire nature. We are one when we fly. My legs working a rhythm with her muscles. After all this time it has become an effortless union. We can read each other in subtle shifts, nudges. She has a rich, warm cinnamon smell, it fills my nose and warms me as I lean my head against her broad neck. Feeling the sinew strain against my thighs as she pushes cooly upward.
It had been too long since we had just flown for fun. I needed this moment. Freedom, with the one creature I could trust. My hair blows back behind me and Thrakena takes a steep drop- it feels like a free fall. I hug in closer, my heart beating hard against my chest. The sting of the frigid air against my cheek. My breath quickens, A delicious tension exists between my body and her’s. Knowing when to lean into and away from each other. Another massive thrust with her hind legs and we once again burst upward through the light gossamer clouds to meet the light coming over the horizon. “Hold steady for me, will you?” My companion aquiesces, slowing the beat of her massive leathery wings once again, to allow us to hover in the light, stolen time.
We only have but a moment left. I push into her harder, “I don’t want to go.” She turns her head toward me. I see the emerald brilliance of her eye, clear and wise. She nods ever so slightly.
Burying my face in the soft leather of her large scales. “Not yet may friend. This is pure magic, soul filling freedom.”
She dives into a subjacent trajectory. I hold my breath, keeping my eyes closed against the stinging wind. I hear the ringing in my ears, the sound starts from far away, begins to fill my head.
Deep inside I feel my soul begin to split. “No not yet.” I plead to the air, Thrakena picking up speed as we descend.
The ringing gets louder as we go faster. The time has come, it must begin.
My heart is aching this morning. We’re told to envision what we want for our lives, when we create these plays in our heads, we have the other actors do as we need, do as we want, to create an idealistic dream. Growing up I didn’t have a grand sense of community or family. There wasn’t the regular coming together of dinner or shared times, there wasn’t the effort put into building and maintaining deep connections, relationships, the practice of forgiveness or acceptance.I’m not faulting anyone for this, it just happened to be the environment I grew up in. In my 20s I had a group of friends, that hung together all the time, we were in and out of each other‘s apartments, backyards, sharing drinks sharing laughs doing like 20-year-olds do. The tight bond of the time. As we all grew into our 30s and started to create our families and “settle down “we tried to maintain what we could. We moved to different parts, got different jobs, headed in multiple directions. The ‘togetherness’ was less frequent, deep….Life began to change and grow and we meet new people, in part because of your kids, in part because your life takes different directions career and hobby wise, changes come again. By the time I hit my own watershed at 40, I had a clear sense of what I wanted, what I wanted for my family.I wanted a regular village of people to come together, that were supportive, understanding, creative, calming, and that we would all look out for each other. Build a sense of community and a sense of varied deep connection that I’ve always yearned for.I wanted to have that for my own children so they knew in their hearts that there’s so many people around who love them and want to see them grow and flourish. I wanted old and new to bond, grow, become my village, my family’s village. One began to emerge out of the ether, it was blending, it was growing, I could feel my creativity humming, joy at having multiple kids running around the yard, communal foods to prepare and share. People to rely on, being meaningfully relied upon. Laughter, ideas new and old to be discussed, challenged, stimulated. I envisioned an ever growing merry band of misfits that looked out for each other, helped foster our creative and spiritual natures, supported and gently challenged and nurtured each other. Creating a safe open environment for our children to learn acceptance, forgiveness and that vulnerability is strength. As fast as it felt it was coming together it seemed to fall apart. Why? Ego? Life? Pettiness? Misunderstanding? Time? Jealousy about perceived positions? Circumstances? No room for change, understanding, vulnerability, acceptance or forgiveness?I have been given many reasons, many ‘justifications’, and maybe I’m too naive or stupid to get it, but I never understood the actual why. I just knew that no one read my play. No one read the words or understood the meaning. They all had their own stage production they were mounting. No one acknowledged how important these connections, village mind, if you will, can be for mental and emotional survival. How beautiful it could be. Especially given our current world state. So it collapsed upon itself. Seemingly having fault lines and divides appear. Coldness replacing warmth. Excuses to not get together, eventually no plans and in some cases silence. I maintained hope that after a time it would come back together. I lamented to a friend about how deeply I missed all of it. I was harshly told I was being stupid, no one wanted to put the time and effort in. No one wanted these things. Just me, and I should knock it off. Although I was apologized to later and told it should have been put in a nicer way it didn’t matter. It stung and it broke my hope. I withdrew. Fearful of trying to plan gatherings, bringing people together and the stress and anxiety this now caused.Sad at how restrictive it felt. Isolated that I was the only one who seemed to treasure and miss what had begun.Looking for contentment in smaller, less frequent visits with various people. Today another friend who was a part of this mentioned to me how she too missed it and was remiss to mention that for fear of making my heart ache.Bless her. While yes it awoke an ache, no more so than FB memories from that time, (I choose to not share them. I sigh, shed a tear, stay quiet and scroll past, for fear others have a very different view and it will cause discord)I am so grateful that someone else misses it. Saw the potential for what it could have been. I don’t feel quite so stupid or naive. I don’t know what may happen, if anything in the future. If my ‘play’ will ever come to fruition and who the ‘players’ may be.At least I know what is possible in the right time, circumstances and knowledge. And for that I’m gratefulI’m grateful for the connections I had and those I continue to have. I have gratitude for the abundance that is in my life. I am grateful for what is shared and can be shared. Thanks for reading. 💜❤️💜
Standing Still at the Speed of Light 