In A Week

imageOn the treadmill this evening, Sia sang.  I ran.  The televisions showed explosions, one after another.  Never stopping.  Explosions of lies and hate.  Explosions of terror–of blood and bodies and children.

…………………………………………………………………………

I have never known peace
Like the damp grass that yields to me
I have never known hunger
Like these insects that feast on me

…………………………………………………………………………

An hour later, I flipped through the Prospectus.  King’s College in London has several wonderful research involvements on psychosis.  First time psychosis.  Cigarettes and schizophrenia.  Cannabis and psychosis.  Endocannabiniods.  Peripheral Markers.

I began my journey with higher education by doing small bouts of Google-‘research’ on these topics.  I was so intrigued and puzzled by what I saw unfolding in my younger brother’s mind and body.  I was terrified it would happen to me.  More so, I just hungered for understanding.

……………………………………………………………………….

A thousand teeth
And yours among them, I know
Our hungers appeased
Our heartbeats becoming slow

……………………………………………………………………..

I would love to study these mechanisms.  But those explosions.  Ah, those explosions.

……………………………………………………………………..

We lay here for years or for hours
Thrown here or found
To freeze or to thaw
So long we become the flowers
Two corpses we were
Two corpses I saw

And they’d find us in a week
When the weather gets hot
After the insects have made their claim
I’d be home with you
I’d be home with you

……………………………………………………………………..

How can I stand strong and independent in the face of such tragedy and harm?  How can I trust that I will be given enough time on Earth to learn all that I yearn to understand?  How can I trust that I will be granted opportunity and strength to turn that knowledge into GOOD?  Into LOVE?  Into ACTION?  To relieve the suffering of psychotic episodes in schizophrenia patients.  How can I see these explosions, explosions and still hope to extend my hopes and dreams and precious, precious time into the future?  Into unknown lands?

………………………………………………………………………

I have never known sleep
Like the slumber that creeps to me
I have never known color
Like this morning reveals to me

……………………………………………………………………..

I want to withdraw.  I want to wake up to sheep.  Knits in the basket.  Rocking chair by wood stove.  Daughter picking eggs from the coop.  Purple-working-man son digging in the yard for his newest project.  Bess’s milk in coffee.  Antique cloth napkins.  Studio for creating.  Library with learnings.  Daughter playing dress up.  Son playing instrument.  Out for a walk to the lake, for a crisp autumn swim.  My beloved–strong, peace-filled.  Light and Dark.  Stars and Spring.  Withdrawn from the explosions.  Leaning In to One Another.

……………………………………………………………………

And you haven’t moved an inch
Such that I would not know
If you sleep always like this
The flesh calmly going cold

We lay here for years or for hours
Your hand in my hand
So still and discreet
So long we become the flowers
We’d feed well the land
And worry the sheep

…………………………………………………………………..

But is this the good fear?  Or the debilitating fear?

Must I do the things that require me to face the explosions?  Must I say, ‘to hell with your tactics!  I shall NOT back down from doing these great things!’

Or is it okay to pull these branches?  Is it okay to prune and redirect the vines of my heart toward HOME?

…………………………………………………………………

And they’d find us in a week
When the cattle show fear
After the insects have made their claim
After the foxes have known our taste
I’d be home with you
I’d be home with you

They’d find us in a week (Lay here for years or for hours)
When the weather gets hot (So long we become the flowers)
They’d find us in a week (Lay here for years or for hours)
When the cattle shows fear (So long we become the flowers)

……………………………………………………………….

So far, I’ve waited on the Lord.  I’ve flirted and I’ve held out: HOPE!  For a good, good love.  And still the question remains.

Because, for now, my HOME is here, with myself.

I carry HOME with me wherever I go, wherever I am needed.

I don’t know HOME with another.  I am yet childless.  It’s fine.  I’m not worried, really.

I just keep finding that my instinct to withdraw from the world and its explosions (and all the hopes associated with that), is met with the strange reality that I’m still here.  Waiting.  Fighting to grow strong enough to withstand these tremendous external forces, this tremendous hate, this world and all its pain and harm–not knowing how long it will take for HOME to become real for my wanderers’ soul.

No matter.

I suppose either way, there are things for me to do.  Beloved or not.  Independence or not.  They can’t take this from me.  Even to die, is gain!

………………………………………………………..

And they’d find us in a week
When the buzzards get loud
After the insects have made their claim
After the foxes have known our taste
After the raven has had its say

……………………………………………………………

Maybe they can take their explosions.  And shove it.

…………………………………………………………….

I’d be home with you
I’d be home with you
I’d be home with you
I’d be home with you
I’d be home with you
I’d be home with you

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