Saturday, October 30, 2010

The Calm

The calm.
It comes after the rage.
During the rage, I am in my darkest place.
Despair reaches in and grabs ahold of my heart, of everything I hold dear.

Rip it out.
I want it ripped out.
I cry out loud, gasping, choking, trying desperately to rip it the fuck out.
I can't breathe, but I do.
The breath comes, again and again.

Until the calm.

My tears cease.
My breathing slows.

It all falls into place,
and it's all still there,
Different, yet still the same.

Underneath the calm.

“It is the calm and silent water that drowns a man.”
~African Proverb

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Keep Floating

Last night, I dreamed I was standing on a dock. My dad was standing next to me. On the side of the dock, right in front of me was a little model boathouse. It was blue with lots of windows, and it was on a stick, so you could spin it around to see inside. Below it was a plaque with information about it; when it was built, who had lived there, what had happened to them. I kept trying to read it but couldn't understand what it said. I wondered where the actual boathouse was, and my dad, not saying anything, pointed out to the right into the water. I saw the boathouse, blue with lots of windows, just like the model on a stick.

Just then, I looked down and saw that the water was up to my feet on the dock, and told my dad, "I feel nauseous."

Still not speaking, he turned and motioned for me to head back to land. As I walked along the dock, the water got deeper and deeper, but I was kind of walking on it. It was as if my fear of going under was keeping me afloat. As I was about to take the last step on the dock before land with my right foot, I saw how deep it was and that my foot should have been completely immersed...but it wasn't. I stayed on top of it, and then with my left foot, hopped onto dry land. That's when I woke up.

“They float upon the surface of the darkness in which I'm drowning.” ~Anne Rice