The Lake
In my world, everyone is sleeping.
I am at the lake, by the water's edge. Above me, the night sky glitters with the embers of stars. The breeze smells like autumn. The drapery of silence is lifted only by crickets and the lap-lapping of the water against its shore. I am alone.
I used to come here when I wanted to hide. Tonight I came here because I want to heal.
I don't have a silver tongue. I don't have gypsy magic. I don't have strong hands and a warrior's heart. And in my world, everyone is sleeping. But I have the lake, and the little ploinks of fish out there where the velvet blacks of water and sky blend. I have sand beneath my feet. And for the first time in years, I don't feel suffocated by the voices that silence brings.
The little girl I was made me the woman I am. This weekend, I traced the patterns of the universe - mine, and those of the people I love. Being scared with other members of the lucky seven is better than being scared alone. And scars don't mean healing if the wound beneath is sepsis, cancerous, eating away at the healthy tissue around it. Cutting open an old wound and digging out the cancer hurts like hell. The shock to the system is awful. The antiseptic burns. But that's the only way to heal.
I had a very strange kind of malfunction today. It was like an earthquake in my soul. I felt the aftershock for hours. I didn't recognize it for what it was until maybe an hour or so ago. When you take months and years of hurt and place them in the hands of the people that mean most to you in all the world, that's a powerful magic. When you place them in the strong hands of warriors and trust that those hands won't let go, that's a powerful magic. When you use the words you have, even if you choke on them, to call a thing out and make it real, that is powerful magic. And when you realize you're standing right on the shoreline of a moment that will change you, and you have the choice to bury a cancer under more scar tissue or finally vomit it up, that's a powerful magic. It rocks you all the way through the meat and mist of you, beneath your skin, in your bones, in the invisible bars and rods that hold you up. I didn't know that would happen, and I'm glad no one told me, or I might have made the wrong choice. Tonight, I am everything I need to be, and have everything I want.
In my world, everyone is sleeping. But it's important to me that when they wake up, they know that I've gone to the lake, and they see what I've gone to do there. It's important that they know that while I'm looking up at the stars, I'm thinking of the warrior and the wordman and the gypsy. I'm going to sleep here at the lake, beneath the stars, and when I wake up, I'll come back to them. But tonight, in my world, there is me and the lake and the ache of an old wound's cradle, and the stars.
I am at the lake, by the water's edge. Above me, the night sky glitters with the embers of stars. The breeze smells like autumn. The drapery of silence is lifted only by crickets and the lap-lapping of the water against its shore. I am alone.
I used to come here when I wanted to hide. Tonight I came here because I want to heal.
I don't have a silver tongue. I don't have gypsy magic. I don't have strong hands and a warrior's heart. And in my world, everyone is sleeping. But I have the lake, and the little ploinks of fish out there where the velvet blacks of water and sky blend. I have sand beneath my feet. And for the first time in years, I don't feel suffocated by the voices that silence brings.
The little girl I was made me the woman I am. This weekend, I traced the patterns of the universe - mine, and those of the people I love. Being scared with other members of the lucky seven is better than being scared alone. And scars don't mean healing if the wound beneath is sepsis, cancerous, eating away at the healthy tissue around it. Cutting open an old wound and digging out the cancer hurts like hell. The shock to the system is awful. The antiseptic burns. But that's the only way to heal.
I had a very strange kind of malfunction today. It was like an earthquake in my soul. I felt the aftershock for hours. I didn't recognize it for what it was until maybe an hour or so ago. When you take months and years of hurt and place them in the hands of the people that mean most to you in all the world, that's a powerful magic. When you place them in the strong hands of warriors and trust that those hands won't let go, that's a powerful magic. When you use the words you have, even if you choke on them, to call a thing out and make it real, that is powerful magic. And when you realize you're standing right on the shoreline of a moment that will change you, and you have the choice to bury a cancer under more scar tissue or finally vomit it up, that's a powerful magic. It rocks you all the way through the meat and mist of you, beneath your skin, in your bones, in the invisible bars and rods that hold you up. I didn't know that would happen, and I'm glad no one told me, or I might have made the wrong choice. Tonight, I am everything I need to be, and have everything I want.
In my world, everyone is sleeping. But it's important to me that when they wake up, they know that I've gone to the lake, and they see what I've gone to do there. It's important that they know that while I'm looking up at the stars, I'm thinking of the warrior and the wordman and the gypsy. I'm going to sleep here at the lake, beneath the stars, and when I wake up, I'll come back to them. But tonight, in my world, there is me and the lake and the ache of an old wound's cradle, and the stars.