I have been here before.
In a dark place, uncertain,
full of lost things,
barriers made for stumbling over,
uncertain where to walk, or when,
my heart in a place of uncertainty,
I do not function well in uncertainty.
That is the truth
I become strangely paralyzed,
able to laugh and work and fix myself
bacon and eggs and feed the cats
the same old thing. No difference in me.
At least not that you can see.
It brings back memories, uncertainty.
Dark ones. Memories of a crippled past,
of a speckled childhood, a marriage ended
in blood, of loss and stumbling,
and resurrected devils with twisted words
and for a time, you are a child again.
a manchild, functional and no more,
not the thing of spirit and joy you have become.
I cannot beat it back. That is what I have learned.
So I have learned to breathe, to pray in each breath,
to let the storm wash over me,
for it always will.
All I have to do is survive.
And I am good at that.
Certified (not certifiable) and proven.
No storm can outlast me.
I am far tougher than I look.
I will stand in the alcove
and let the sunlight reach me,
and melt into myself,
the God image I was meant to be,
and will be again.
About this poem.
I talk often about how I process feelings slowly. A combination of a setback at work, and the delayed results of this election have left me overwhelmed. You’d not know it. I function fine, like a well programed robot. But my emotions have been in lockdown.
They are starting to break out again. They always do.
My guess is that there are a lot of people like me. And we never realize it because they are so, well, normal.
Be well. Trave wisely,
PS: The picture was taken in Saint Peters, in Rome