Heat dissipates in waves. Sweat turns cold and clammy. I stretch muscles that are stiffening. Already aching with exercise pain. My mind echo with the song I’ve just danced the happy Jive to. Suffused with the endorphins a good workout gives, it’s calm and at peace. Outside the window the full moon rises over the treetops.
In the silver light Thoughts swirl like moths round and round Time to say goodnight
A dark stairwell. My cat meowing and howling in his box. The grownups swearing over the scratches they got when forcing him in. My mothers volatile mood. Grief flashing to rage, flashing to confused numbness flashing back to grief.
My aunts and uncles have strange whispering voices. Walking on eggshells. Afraid to do or say anything that reminds us. Like it’s possible to forget. Like it’s possible to step out of the endless loop of grief and confusion.
I did not understand. How could daddy just be gone forever? And who is that stranger looking out of my mother’s eyes?
Like a plucked flower A rootless child drifts astray Unseen and unloved
I’m one of those that might have opted out of this one, knowing the punch in some of my memories. Also knowing I do not have them all. Nearly everything before my fathers death, two months before my sixth birthday. And two months before my younger siblings birth. Are built up by photo albums and my mother’s stories. And those stories tended to shift over the years. Even today, if one of her children mentions a story she told us over, and over, and over again – only to be met with a blank stare and a totally new story.
Both of us have long ago lost the sense that we will ever know the truth. We have our own memories, as far back as they go. Beyond that we will never know.
And I, again, ended up with fragments so small I don’t know what the memory is about. And this memory, of the dark stairwell, in the house we’re moving out of just weeks after my father passed away.
I have no pictures of that time. But I do have this from what seems a happier time then I can remember.
What will the world look after the pandemic? How will the geopolitical landscape change? How will that affect me personally? Will one catastrophe lead us to accept responsibility for, and take action against, the looming human made climate emergency.
Even before the pandemic my life where in flux, changing. It still is. A history of unprocessed trauma, a newly acquired trauma activating full PTSD and leading to major depression, will do that to a life. But now the urgency to imagine a better future, for all humans, feels even more acute.
So what should I do? Change career? Change residence from city to wildwood? First step. Change myself to the core! Rewriting those programs that prohibits self-love, true self, esteem, courage to live my truth, my goals, my dreams.
In springs pale rebirth I see the truth of seasons Birth, growth, change, rebirth
Spring approaching. Spring storms brewing. The cold, dark, destructive winter gives way to light, creation, growth. Energy thaw and flow. Mars soul-warrior arrives, resplendent in golden chariot. Steadfast, just, honest, courageous, loyal. Stable comfort at your back, through change, awe, growth. Here to help break any obstacle on the path. To prune away that that which has outlived its usefulness. Lead the charge in life changing battles. Bolster courage and willpower to live true. Let there be storms.
Buds burst without fear Growth is painful, takes courage Stand firm, seasons turn.