28. I Am Not Alone


Blog 28: Dec. 1997-April 1998—There are times when no amount of wanting, willing, or determination will bring us to that place we wish to go. The past lives in every cell of our body—whether from this lifetime or another—until we are able to hear, feel, be with what is trying to speak its voice through us so that we may, one day, be free.

This was my reality when I moved from my idyllic home in the Oakland Hills of California to a house with multiple unhappy people in the lowlands of Berkeley. I didn’t want to move, but my hips were in too much pain to function in the hills, and I needed a place without stairs that I could afford.

In this space of debilitation I wrote poems, one of which I share here:

I am no more than this, I say,

than the wind that crosses through my room,

 than the tenderness of strangers,

than your voice that at times whispers when it is afraid.

I have been there,

I have frozen my gut,

closed my wounds to the world,

too big, too outside myself.

I have wandered and prayed for love,

have forgotten so many times that I am not alone,

only to stand here,

and to feel this

this nakedness of possibility,

this breeze of flexibility,

this knowing that even in this great weakness,

I am not alone.   


(Check out my novel, Child of Duende, at NOVEL WEBSITE)


4 thoughts on “28. I Am Not Alone

  1. My alone space is in flux, but I can share what it was like in the past, when I lived in California:

    As the single, thick girthed, pointy spike settles and penetrates into the hole along the surface of my body
    The sting of hole creation has long gone, leaving a small lingerment ignited by fresh blood running to the spike
    squeezing into the fleshy indentation snugly, with no flaw nor gap, blood creating the seal
    shortly after, that lingerment disappears into a mesh and hubbub of dull and ever-present existence
    easy to focus onto, easy to retreat into, steady, never changing
    other spikes settle in, one after another, like bubbles popping in packing material
    exactly in the same way, sometimes multiples at once, sometimes sequential
    soon, all the spikes settle in all over my being, the over-sensation assemblage completed
    quiet enough to never draw attention to itself
    present enough to allow easy integration and focus to itself
    painful enough to drown out all other pain
    relieving enough to settle into and away from all other pain
    busy enough to occupy and allow the passage of time unbated
    stable enough to always be there
    So shall this suit of the Iron Maiden I wear
    Endure, engage, integrate with Life as I saw it
    Rat races, circular motions while never growing
    Pain of Pains, Armor of armors
    It protects from all of the Outside
    At the cost of comfort and healing on the inside
    Easy integration into a zombie world devoid of true Life
    Monochrome of green and black the dearth of existence.
    When in need, such a suit allows for great movement and shifts
    Only requiring intense anger and gumption for an occassional change

    Liked by 1 person

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