The time of no reply is calling her to stay.
When?
“When I crawl down through my breakfast cereal into the back of my life. These Lucky Charms are one link, allowing me to revert back into that second grader that bled and suffered. Some part of me wants to surrender to that old tugging. But maybe those roles no longer serve us as they once did; maybe the priest of the Catholic faith, who we had trusted with our children, can never recover his place in our lives.
Will,
Some part of me still competes with you and wants to dominate you. That is our foot race down that dirt road, waiting The riverbed was dry, though, man. The Jumping and sliding into that rough patch, into spirituality. I’m going to wait for him to get to the dark dirt a little longer, because it is softer and I am afraid. How bright the orange of those cold Maple leaves in September, when the cold carries me far far away from it all. Could I hide in my mother’s bed until then? Hide from everyone’s cruelty and disgust? Never talk to a single one of them again? I wish! Seeking their approval was a young man’s game, seeking for some glimpse of warmth in their derision. If only I could appear broken enough to earn their pity, but the sad state of my fall only seems to redouble their scorn. Desperation in my seeking, wearing my loved ones’ deaths like so many medals, their pictures used to paint and plaster a new self, forever sad, relishing in their sympathy as an excuse to lay down. Perhaps an old would could be dragged out and put on display, to buy me another day here, in bed. Perhaps the sickness will become real, perhaps the pain of loss will truly take me away if I surrender fully to this solitude, if I were to give myself over to its presence completely, what would be left?
Perhaps that was the kind of full abandonment I inspired in Jane, with my deep forest fasts and ayahuasca deaths.. Perhaps she wished, always, to accompany me to that place, to that edge, but could not find her way. Stumbling, calling out for me in the night, trying to follow my love which had become so distant, she instead found herself falling, sliding, out of control and afraid. My lone wolf searcher façade became a lure that I hung over the drop off. She followed me faithfully, hook, line, and sinker, still hoping against desperate hope that I would catch her and hold her and keep her safe.
“When I crawl down through my breakfast cereal into the back of my life. These Lucky Charms are one link, allowing me to revert back into that second grader that bled and suffered. Some part of me wants to surrender to that old tugging. But maybe those roles no longer serve us as they once did; maybe the priest of the Catholic faith, who we had trusted with our children, can never recover his place in our lives.
Will,
Some part of me still competes with you and wants to dominate you. That is our foot race down that dirt road, waiting The riverbed was dry, though, man. The Jumping and sliding into that rough patch, into spirituality. I’m going to wait for him to get to the dark dirt a little longer, because it is softer and I am afraid. How bright the orange of those cold Maple leaves in September, when the cold carries me far far away from it all. Could I hide in my mother’s bed until then? Hide from everyone’s cruelty and disgust? Never talk to a single one of them again? I wish! Seeking their approval was a young man’s game, seeking for some glimpse of warmth in their derision. If only I could appear broken enough to earn their pity, but the sad state of my fall only seems to redouble their scorn. Desperation in my seeking, wearing my loved ones’ deaths like so many medals, their pictures used to paint and plaster a new self, forever sad, relishing in their sympathy as an excuse to lay down. Perhaps an old would could be dragged out and put on display, to buy me another day here, in bed. Perhaps the sickness will become real, perhaps the pain of loss will truly take me away if I surrender fully to this solitude, if I were to give myself over to its presence completely, what would be left?
Perhaps that was the kind of full abandonment I inspired in Jane, with my deep forest fasts and ayahuasca deaths.. Perhaps she wished, always, to accompany me to that place, to that edge, but could not find her way. Stumbling, calling out for me in the night, trying to follow my love which had become so distant, she instead found herself falling, sliding, out of control and afraid. My lone wolf searcher façade became a lure that I hung over the drop off. She followed me faithfully, hook, line, and sinker, still hoping against desperate hope that I would catch her and hold her and keep her safe.