Partner with loss
Write. As heavy as you are.
Is he THE partner? The ONE to change your mind? Your life? Are you able to embrace the inevitable changes? Willing, even? Should you resist nostalgia? All of it? Or maybe just keep a box worth of it? When would you repeat? Daily, biweekly, in the next lifetime, now?
Why am I the one to make the compromises? Put him under the scope, examine his potential, his drive to take in a storm. To love this storm. House it like a lifeline.
I’m scared, nervous, breaking. Losing touch with myself in exchange for a touch of him. Feeding from a heavy dose of intravenous therapy, I lie here waiting for answers. Clarity. A sign.
On September 14, 2016, I attended a writing workshop led by Allison Conner called Words Have Wings. At this workshop I discovered the concealed relationship between writing, the author, and spirituality. I don’t normally buy into all the psychic reading mumbo-jumbo or the purpose of tarot cards. In spite of my cynicism, I was present – allowing myself to go along with the process for the sake of my writing and especially because I spent money to be there!
The antecedent content is from the workshop itself. Honing into the concept that as artists, nothing is ever perfect, just finished. We’d discussed our current state of mind, did some minor grunt work in reading random content from local writers for some inspiration, which is where I found the four line poem. I then wrote the quote beneath, feeling its weight. Weight is normally frowned upon, heaviness markedly, but the quote is my attempt to carry the weight not as physical but rather inanimately. As knowledge, as experience, as wisdom. I am heavy, yes I am. And there is no shame to be found in any ounce of my heavy. I am here to tell my story in hopes that others will confide in a safe space to tell their own. Stories carry our dissection through generations and those generations will learn.
From the poem and the quote we moved into an examination of the content. “Write just what you’re thinking in this moment, NOW, go!” So that’s exactly what followed. Feeling plagued by an identity crisis induced by the motions of looooove, I was feeling extremely conflicted. I love this guy, but we’re so different. And me, being the brown girl from the hood, I’m consistently caught up in the duties of code-switching, and needless to say, it can be very frustrating. Specifically because he doesn’t have to worry about doing the work. Around his family and friends, I have to be a different person. Change is scary. Change is menacing. I was feeling emboldened as well, why am I the one stuck doing the work – he’s lucky to have ME!? hah. [Avoidance never fixed a dam]
Once written, Allison laid out a deck of tarot cards. She asked us to pull any one from the deck at random. Lo and behold, I pulled SOULMATE. What are the fucking odds?! (1/50-ish, to be precise). This got my mind whirling into curiosity, does this mean something? If so, WHAT DOES IT MEAN!?
I was crazed.