Mar 2018
23 September 2009
There is an ache that has imprisoned my heart, wrapping itself round in a tight hug. Selfishly it stands guard like a jealous lover allowing no other to tease open its grasp. This ache, a memory trapped in a web of fear and unconscious, unresolved pain.
At times my heart is still, unfeeling, disconnected from the pulse of this pain. In denial, split off, ambivalent. Easier to hide, to slip peacefully into the warm treacle of numbness, pushing away anyone or anything that will trigger the tremor, the after shock of that quake that shook my foundations and brought me face to face with my terror and rage.
My heart is lost with no map for this uncharted grief. His death caused a tsunami that swept away the familiar landscape in which my heart travelled, weary but with faith, along a well trodden path.
Now it surveys a desert devoid of familiar landmarks, open to the elements with no shelter from the dust storms of emotions that create a whirl of confusion through which I can see no way forward. Left with no option but to lie low I must keep faith that this too shall pass.
Can there be love after death? My heart aches with this quest. He went out with the fading light of summer and my tears fell with the leaves from the trees. A blaze of colour lit the moor as his body burned to ash and my heart went into hibernation, drawing in the light to wrap close for comfort from the cold shock of his sudden disappearance.
To love again is to face this loss over and over. To love again is to become intimate with the fear, this terror of the pain and embrace it without shame. My battle weary heart longs for peace, for surrender so it can come home to rest in the tender arms of a new love and feel the soft breath of longing like the spring sunshine on a new born lamb.
As love born after death takes her first wobbly steps my heart trembles with anticipation of the fall. But if the first shoots of spring were to fear autumn there would be no flowering, no opening to the light, no summer and no harvest. To love again is to trust again. To fall over and over, like the canopy of a tree returning head over heels to the earth year after year.
I feel the soreness in my heart as the light draws in and the leaves turn to fire in the cool night air.
There is an ache that has imprisoned my heart, wrapping itself round in a tight hug. Selfishly it stands guard like a jealous lover allowing no other to tease open its grasp. This ache, a memory trapped in a web of fear and unconscious, unresolved pain.
At times my heart is still, unfeeling, disconnected from the pulse of this pain. In denial, split off, ambivalent. Easier to hide, to slip peacefully into the warm treacle of numbness, pushing away anyone or anything that will trigger the tremor, the after shock of that quake that shook my foundations and brought me face to face with my terror and rage.
My heart is lost with no map for this uncharted grief. His death caused a tsunami that swept away the familiar landscape in which my heart travelled, weary but with faith, along a well trodden path.
Now it surveys a desert devoid of familiar landmarks, open to the elements with no shelter from the dust storms of emotions that create a whirl of confusion through which I can see no way forward. Left with no option but to lie low I must keep faith that this too shall pass.
Can there be love after death? My heart aches with this quest. He went out with the fading light of summer and my tears fell with the leaves from the trees. A blaze of colour lit the moor as his body burned to ash and my heart went into hibernation, drawing in the light to wrap close for comfort from the cold shock of his sudden disappearance.
To love again is to face this loss over and over. To love again is to become intimate with the fear, this terror of the pain and embrace it without shame. My battle weary heart longs for peace, for surrender so it can come home to rest in the tender arms of a new love and feel the soft breath of longing like the spring sunshine on a new born lamb.
As love born after death takes her first wobbly steps my heart trembles with anticipation of the fall. But if the first shoots of spring were to fear autumn there would be no flowering, no opening to the light, no summer and no harvest. To love again is to trust again. To fall over and over, like the canopy of a tree returning head over heels to the earth year after year.
I feel the soreness in my heart as the light draws in and the leaves turn to fire in the cool night air.
23 September 2009
