darkness descends upon the heart
a heaviness, a fog, a boot on the chest
ragged breath escapes in minor key
hands grope damp, dusky walls
what lurks in the shadows?
where is the light?
monster
troll
beast
has crept from under the bed to haunt daydreams
minotaur. scylla. charybdis. polyphemus. grendel.
all are real, myths come alive
creatures of destruction
shriek, claw, destroy
where is the light?
squint, perhaps a pinprick?
no, a mirage
despair chants a funeral dirge, a requiem for souls
cover the mirrors
don black
sit shiva
mourn. lament. weep.
Hesse wrote of multiplying our world instead of narrowing it, but how is that possible when the monsters are here?
where is the light?
yet…in the cave’s murkiness drawings were carved into stories
back when lives were brutal and short, art reared
what is the antidote?
Auden wrote, “The mere making of a work of art is itself a political act.”
Lewis said, “Never, in peace or war, commit your virtue or your happiness to the future. Happy work is best done by the man who takes his long-term plans somewhat lightly and works from moment to moment. The present is the only time in which any duty can be done or any grace received.”
Morrison wrote, “This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time of despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. that is how civilizations heal. I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is important not to ignore its pain, it is also critical to refuse to succumb to its malevolence. Like failure, chaos contains information that can lead to knowledge - even wisdom. Like art.”
Jean said
love is the opposite of fear. love is our antidote.
Peg urged
don’t go dark
Nancy wrote
hold the light high vibration
….so, we take care of ourselves, we breathe, and then we rise up
with rage and determination and hope and love
our own art
a new mantra
I will not go dark
I will hold the light
I will weave my existence with love,
even if I’m shaking
I choose hope
I choose love
Moment by Moment.
*****************************************
On Wednesday morning I deleted social media and news apps off my phone. My heart demanded a rest. I sat with my grief. Hours later my doorbell rang. Two friends were on the front porch with gifts of chai tea and muffins and solace. I sliced three servings of chocolate cake and poured glasses of cold milk while we mourned and laughed and cried. Love began to seep back into my broken heart.
A few other friends reached out throughout the next two days. I slowly began to text others, not wanting to begin with a glib, “Are you okay?'“, because we aren’t. The stages of grief are playing pinball with our psyches. Shock! Denial! Anger! Back to Shock! Bargaining! Back to Anger! Depression. Sadness. More Anger. (Acceptance isn’t an option yet, if ever. Not ready for that asshole.)
My tender heart is not ready for the loud cacophony of social medial, but you will find me here on Substack, channeling Dylan Thomas as I, “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” At the moment Joy is taking a breather, as Sadness, Fear, Anger, Disgust, and Anxiety wrestle with one another. Bing Bong. My writing will reflect all of this.
So, my Cassandras, what do we do now? Keep screaming about our impending doom? Or…perhaps…we first take care of ourselves. Comb our hair. Wash our faces. Change into fresh outfits. Reapply lipstick.
Moment by moment. Then we step into the fire.
Be tender with yourself, and when Rage and Fear and Sadness arise, know Joy is close. She may be quieter than usual, but she is still there… a cloaking joy…
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As The Chicks sang,
“I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m mad as hell, and I don’t have time
To go ‘round and ‘round and ‘round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is
You think I should”
~”Not Ready to Make Nice” by Martha Maquire, Natalie Maines, Emily Robinson, Dan Wilson
My husband and I took a day yesterday. Moment by moment.