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“What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her? What would he do. Had the the motive and the cue for passion that I have? He would drown the stage with tears…” – William Shakespeare

She wept in words for days and years to the chorus of cries saying, “That’s enough.” “Why do you do this to yourself. Get over it.”

Her family, the ones left living spoke no words at all. She could only see their backs as they cheered on the next ignorant fashion trend and pretended to be all of the things they absolutely were not. Five dollar versions of million dollar souls, they mocked, chided, dropped blades into her back…denying any of it was ever or had ever happened.

No, for Hecuba, she was the problem. Her grief was the issue. Not the impetus the reaction. For all of her loss Hecuba’s greatest tragedy in life was this fixation on reaction by the people around her. It denied truth. It removed the truth and replaced it with a plastic version of candy coated drugged out highs. Because they couldn’t feel. They wouldn’t feel.

Hecuba? She couldn’t stop feeling. She wouldn’t. Because the love was so great. It was so great that it dwarfed the pain. But, they couldn’t see that. They could only see her tears. She bled words so much that her blood became them and she was freed in the letting.

Still, they could only see her grief. And the losses were real. And she would never deny the losses. They were merely the final page in a lifetime of love. She loved fiercely. And wildly. And without restraint. And this is why the losses devastated her. She loved loving.

And, even still.

She loved.

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“I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing.” -Herman Melville, Moby Dick

When I think of my Grandparents, I think of their laughter. Each one different. Each one resonated from a different place in a time. A different understanding of life.

Sometimes I feel them holding me. I feel the slow rock of comfort and the love circling me like some kind of sacred spiritual arms lifting me up out of the darkness.

It always comes back around to their laughter.

If they were here now.

And maybe they still are.

If they knew.

And maybe they do.

They would hold me.

Rock me.

And we would end up laughing together.

I just know it.

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Clasp the sweet peace on earth and sky,
By midnight angels woven and spun;
Better than day its prophecy,--
The morning comes before the sun.- Sarah Chauncey Woolsey

Moving with a peace that never seemed possible

They rise before the sun and work through the great rise

Never eclipsed

Awake

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“It is funny about money. And it is funny about identity. You are you because your little dog knows you, but when your public knows you and does not want to pay for you and when your public knows you and does want to pay for you, you are not the same you.”-Gertrude Stein

That gurl.

She’s 17 years old now and confused in ways she never was before. Her brain doesn’t wake up as fast as it used to and her legs are arthritic and sometimes that makes it difficult for her to stand up.

I’m afraid to leave her alone for too long. Afraid she will get stuck. It’s my job to unstick her. She trusts me. She looks to me and I want to be her constant calm. And sometimes that nearly impossible.

Her Dad gets up with her in the middle of the night to tend to her bladder because now when she has to go she has to go. When she was younger she had unbelieveable control over everything. Unbelieveable agility.

But now? Now. I love her more than I have ever loved her before because she reminds me of the walking miracle. That it exists. And, when I wake up with a startle wondering if she’s still with us I feel Tricia saying, “20”.

I think it might be impossible to have a 20 year old dog but if she can stick around that long then I can be by her side. Because she’s been by mine and I will move mountains to tend to that gurl.

When she has a really good meal, she still has to dance and undo her bed. But then, she can’t rest until it’s neat and tidy again. That’s just a part of her personality.

Her tastes are varied and she doesn’t like to eat the same food everyday. She prefers things spicy. And she loves sushi. As much as I can I take her to the Starbuck’s drive through for a birthday cake pop. She usually eats the whole thing on the way to the lake.

She loves the fountain at the lake. She loves to stand on the concrete platform in the center and cool off with splashes of water surrounding her. Being outside makes her happy and then may need to sleep it off for a couple of days.

She likes people watching and dog watching.

She’s an absolute joy. No trouble at all. My best gurl. An absolute joy.

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“Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length.” -Robert Frost

When white light breaks down into prismatic displays of emotion.

Well.

There’s really not much to say about that.

Not if you are really seeing it.

It doesn’t stay long.

So.

Let it fill up every dark void.

A love-letting.

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“Hoof and horn hoof and horn whatever dies shall be reborn. Corn and grain corn and grain all that falls shall rise again.” Blessing of Lughnasa

Trapped between the girl who was supposed to stick to the script and the woman who has a whole lot to say sometimes the only thing left to do is watch the sunset.

Wonderment

The beauty of everything sinks into my skin and now that I’m older even the air touching me feels like an invitation to live. A soft caress and a gentle hope that promises something as beautiful and prismatic as this view.

Contained

Within these societal expectations I’m not trapped just strangely framed and unlike my foremothers I can move and speak. I can see.

Truth

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“To know love we have to invest time and commitment…’dreaming that love will save us, solve all our problems or provide a steady state of bliss or security only keep us stuck in wishful fantasy, undermining the real power of the love — which is to transform us.'” – bell hooks

The pebbles on the window pane were percussive taps of freedom.

I was told:

Only with a boy would I be safe in the world.

I could not go—unless, unless, unless

There was a boy to protect me.

Sounds like love but it’s trade.

Never trusted to be on my own.

Alone.

I broke free and left anyway.

Thinking.

I would die.

Because I was taught

Never

Never go without a bodyguard.

Seemed barbaric to me then.

But now…

Looking back

I understand her fear

It’s all she had

Fear

Not because she chose it consciously

Because she barely got out alive herself

Fear

Shackles clenched in opposition

Opposition to love.

Love

To love is to trust from the gut

To stay in touch with the head

To navigate these things

And sometimes

Trust

Trust in the face of past betrayal

Trial loves

And failed friendships

Liars posing as lovers

Words attempting to replace the action

of caring

All of that betrayal

Takes you to her path

Fear

But your gut says no

No!

Love anyway!!

DO IT!!!

Well

That’s just NUTS!

So

Love is crazy

It is

It’s crazy trust to stand back up

Dust off

And dance naked in the light of joy

And, if not joy

Honesty.

Cannons pointed

Ready, Aim,…

But, you don’t duck

You don’t run

Because

Because fuck that

You saw where fear got her

You saw that right?

She landed in a land of fury

Unable to speak she spat

Fire

She became a destroyer

In the name of being destroyed

So

Love

Love anyway

That’s what I do

So can you.

And, yes

Love is crazy.

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“Freedom is what you do with what’s been done to you.” -Jean-Paul Sartre

That stillness.

Do you know it?

That stillness?

The old terror

The new friend

The nothing

With a beauty

That blinds

Do you know it?

 

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“An audience is always warming but it must never be necessary to your work.”           -Gertrude Stein

There she was facing the sun again

With all of her glory and her light

There she was communing with the sky

Silent chatter in the night

There she was having pushed through

So many grains of resistance

She was there

Floating

air

defined

the seed

that died

to create

this

divinity

(even if no one else sees)

There she was

She

Was

There.

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“Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.”  -Edgar Allen Poe

She came to me not a desperate raven atop a door perch of my darkest ways.

No.

She came to me a Great White Egret. At the sea where I’d sat alone for days.

I drifted up outside of my shell to see what I could see. Having cherished the darkness and the lack of air it was the safest place for me to be. Until suddenly I realized I couldn’t breath and all of that darkness was drowning me. I drifted up one rainy day and sat beside the sea.

It was there she met me. It’s where we locked eyes. It was there her grace was seen. No matter what the human harm or how violent any of it seemed, she was still right there in front of my eyes dreaming all of her dreams.

Unlike the nevermore spoken by the raven her words were soft and bright.

“Why sit her on this dampened shore when the world is so full of light?”

“Why”

Was her sound and it stays with me now and follows me wherever I go.

“Why be so sad? Why spend your time on people you’d rather not know?”

“Go!”

I kept that white feather and I left that old shell and I got myself back to my home of old.

The honor is mine, for having her fly -never dying- inside of my soul.

Evermore.