Disapparating

So many pieces and people and places in my life are disintegrating and falling away

Like an oak in the middle of summer losing perfectly green leaves one by one I watch them drop as the barren bones of bark show through. Statuesque naked lonely but sturdy with elegance and deep roots to hold against the wailing winds of change. But then I wonder “Are my roots actually ok?  Do I even have any?

Maybe I’ve been misperceiving leaves as roots. I feel so unearthed it must be so. Am I uprooted? Wasn’t the ground always within me?  Am I in the upside down?” IDk but my insides are definitely out and still something else anchors me even in this discombobulation.

I can’t see it or touch but I feel it.

Like the blue sky holding the clouds - or does it absorb them I’m not sure - but the feeling in my whole soul is this.

A beautiful ghost. A floating effigy of death in summer.  It reminds me of my childhood.  Depressed but everyone is playing and smiling and I think I should.

I want to anyway, and i dont, I smile at the shame and resistance and then relax back into non resistance of what is.

Deep rest.

I need to be in deep rest.

I am depressed. And that’s ok.

Today I can understand my depression and welcome it as it ushers in more grief, then anger, obsession, gratitude, then apathy, numb, relief, the worry doubt and fear swirl in too, “hi friends, nice of you to visit me again and again and again this year.  Thx for coming.  So rapidly lately. What do you want me to know?”

They don’t have any news, it’s the same songs on repeat, it’s been written in and spilled out of broken hearts a billion ways. Like saccharine goo oozing from a Cadbury cream egg.  Can anyone actually palate those anymore?  Grief is like this for me.

But with filigrees of melancholy and the infinite sadness, tainted love, and so many more flavors; so I sing along.  I taste them all. Charlie in the Grief Factory.  Now that creepy wonka song is playing.  This is your brain on grief.  Who needs lsd when you have heartbreak?

I am currently practicing watching Ted Lasso as my brother recommended it for my healing. (Yes, watching tv is a practice for me and my over-achieving mind that wants to study and learn and work, or maybe focused meditation, anything but laugh and be entertained and relax;)

So far I cry at something every episode.

Today is was the moment Rebecca sang Rick Astley at her father’s funeral.

I melt into the bed.

Like these clouds into sky.

I’m disaporating. And I’m ok with it.  This hurt is like the others before, and it’s not. I’ve really never felt anything quite like the flavor of this particular heartbreak before. It carries depth and weight and the gravity anchors me.  Or am I floating?

Anyway, I always wanted to be a cloud.

#disaporate