Thoughts of times when I was strongest are saturated with pain. Pushing out my still baby. Promising my brother that he could leave his children, his wife, our parents, me. Giving him a big sister’s permission to go. To die.
Light waits in other places, biding time for battles yet fought, losses yet endured.
It is in laughter. In sweet places. In that moment when I opt to walk away from bedtime battles and sing giggling songs. To laugh with my children, hear their questions, defer to their greater wisdom. Light and strength are in stillness. In attending to a friend’s need for normalcy now and steadiness later.
Light is the daily, the busy, the spontaneous. Comfortable. Easy
Into The Darkness.
Things fly. Blue-green, yellow-tinged rib cages light and quiet flutter into my arms for a brief embrace and are gone. Heavy things stay longer, to hold and to consider.
The fleshy quiet walls hum with literal, functional noises. Bumps. Swishes and safe, steady beats.
There is color in the dark, orange red stalactites of flesh. When bathed in light, they cringe, knowing this is not their element, their destiny. The darkness ranks its own place, not to be defeated, not to rise above. There is a balance here in this place of pondering. Here, forgive a hurt, find someone else’s perspective, feel their fear and understand their motivation, ticking, nudging them on.
From Dark, a sheer, quiet force. Love, unshaken, given and accepted without a price. My heart. My constants. Loyalty. The gift of pain revisited again and again for careful consideration. Villages in far-off places where I laughed and left. Places I will never see, with stories I cannot know.
In darkness, depth. Breaking at layers of dark, wet grief, I find them. The ones I love, long gone, stroke my face, promise they survived.
My connection to the Other is in the Dark Place.