I stood, hunched
Over the kitchen sink and
The fleshy pit of a mango and
Everything I have feared to say.
The nectar smudged my chin and
Swam down my wrists,
Melting my pores and filling
Hollowed-out bones with summer
ache and I looked
Out into the storm that was
That was making the air smell of
The empty wardrobe in my grandmother’s house,
Still full of
My grandfather’s clothes.
In the coolness of the kitchen
I cannot bear the weight of the
space between myself
And him anymore.
I stand and remember all the ways
A soul can burn.
– Mariela PT
Four years ago today (the 18th of April), I lost someone who was very, very dear to me. My grandfather always helped me keep my heart soft; made me want to be a better person. I miss him a lot, every single day, really. But I know that he still loves me, and that helps soothe a bit of the aching.
i know i know i know that i’ve said so many times in the past how i was becoming malleable to change; that the stiff metal of my existence was slowly becoming more flexible but it was so minimal — it was so much language and yearning and pangs for achieving more than i was but ultimately mostly fruitless
but these past few days – maybe even this past week – i’m feeling everything and it feels right. it’s slow — it’s so so slow, but i’m different.
i’m intangible;; constantly changing, i’m water and i’m flux and i’m fluidity rolling as an expression of holy Light and Love.
i’m coming to accept that my sadness is as much a part of me as my happiness is :: there have been so many times in the last few years of my life that i wished so desperately to unbecome :— to surrender to depths of a ‘deep cathedral where i cannot breathe/no need to pray no need to speak’ / to not exist / to be unhistoric. but now the darkness is so important so so important it has become a hollowness;placenta, womb; and i am able to let my feelings roll over me”waves on an ocean and i am submerged yet i am not weighed down by my sadness or by the scary wish for death and nothingness—- who i am floats in the vacuum that sits between my sternum and my oesophagus and who i am is both lightness and darkness ’ neither inherently good nor bad::: it just is.
i just exist.
my rate of change is slow;slow;slow it almost feels like it isn’t happening but itis and for the first time i can feel it and it’s pace is water droplets cutting through ancientsacredholy stone and it’s happening because of the Creator and it feels right that it’s this slow. because everything is temporary
what is seen is temporary // but // what is unseen is eternal
it doesn’t matter that i eat this or i don’t or i exercise or i don’t or i read this many books or i don’t one day to the next because it’s flux it’s fluid it’s irrelevant because there is an eternity waiting for me and it doesn’t rely on anything that i do accept that i have deep, consuming faith and love.
make me a vessel of Love and Light i let go and let God clothe me in the Spirit let me flow through this life and into the next ——- accepting and water and peace and gentleness and softness and bravery in You and water and water and floating in the water of this cosmos
Sometimes I wonder why I am such a paradox of a being;
why I am temperamental and constantly seeking change.
My name has two meanings. In Hebrew,
I am a sea of bitterness; I constantly ebb and flow,
casting others aside, picking them up in my salt
water in which nothing can grow.
In Latin, I am
of the sea.
I am light; I pulse out to other floating creatures
inhabiting the same turquoise waves
as I // I tendril out rays of beams of streams of
I was born for naladovy.
I was born into
waves and tides and seasons and moon-pulls.
I will constantly be
between the two parts of me that are
of who I am.
will heal me.
She flipped through the stack of postcards that she had pulled from her suitcase. All written and addressed, but never sent. How could it have already been so long?
Her fingers, stiff with swelling, trembled with the weight of remembering.
Continue reading For Abuela