Tear drops drum a beat,
on bending to retrieve,
a heart slips,
a beat unnoticed.
Poem dated: July 19 1998
“Only when the heart is still is the journey over…and even then…there are rivers to cross.”
['SPIRITWALK' Charles DeLint -- get the free e-book here.]
My ex-husband had been abused as a child, as had all of his 5 older siblings – 3 girls, 3 boys. R eventually opened up to my Mom about his abuse as a child. I would sometimes go to bed, but the two of them would talk late into the night. When I first met R his Mom lived across the street, but he hadn’t spoken to her in almost a year.
While his 6-year-old self stood outside that kitchen door, standing beside the only phone in the house, listening to his sister be thrown around the kitchen by their father…my Mom listened. Maybe Mom offered him a bridge over to his Mom. He shared his stories and Mom listened to them as a Mom…and somehow along the way he learned to forgive his own Mom for not protecting them against his Father.
That’s one aspect of this narrative. The other part is that while we dealt with Paul’s delusions, hallucinations and mania, R was slowly coming undone. When Paul was out of our life, almost a year later, R finally broke free of whatever bound him and wailed at the moon beside our campfire. IF I had been paying attention I would have seen it coming. I was however too busy ignoring it all – I’ll call it “la-la-land”. What we do not choose to deal with, will deal with us R found out…as did I.
Then the 4, that had been 3, became 2. On the night R tried to commit suicide…well, not THAT night, but a few days later…I kicked him out. He said he didn’t love me anymore and wanted to be alone. He was finally dealing with his issues, and now he doesn’t love me, doesn’t need me, want me. Umphf. If I had not ended it I believe he would have wallowed away and I would have dissolved even farther. As would have R. He had been obsessed with Genevieve for a while, and I knew of it. The three of us had discussed it and I had accepted it as merely a simple attraction. We can be so naive sometimes.
POEM DATE NOV.4, 1999
I walk out from the shadow of disguise
forced to the light by circumstance.
The molten core of hope,
overflowing into the pit of despair.
THE LONGING ANSWER
What is it that sparks this eternal longing,
this need for that which is not mine?
From deep within it stirs and wakes,
it looms within me.
Loneliness dreams of togetherness,
and my heart contracts.
Memories of waves and whales,
trees glistening in their snowy sleep,
dark candlelit nights awash in connections,
and I must turn away from it.
A pilgrim am I now,
on a path towards the unknown,
in worship of a thing I cannot touch,
but know within myself to be.
Of new beginnings I long for.
Oak floors and a trio of pianos meet me when I stumble.
With these things I nourish my hungry soul.
In spirals my imagination dances me,
towards that which I am…
THE LADY OF THE CELLAR