Hanging in the balance + tipping the scales.
If you chose to throw yourself at something that you know would either shape or destroy you, would you consider that reckless?
If you aren't brave, you never really understand your limits + I'm not talking about sports that push the limits of human endurance. I am referring more to this idea that you are more than the sum of your parts.
You can step outside of your scope at any point - it only takes time + an open mind.
*
Anyway, I know this dude, right - we became strange friends for quite some time, so...i wrote a little tribute/story to him.
I call him grief, but he goes by other names...
*
"Grief came to me with his sharp manner-
Looked me over with his calculating eyes-
Measured my posture, poise + presence-
Leaned on me a little without provocation, reason was best, but not needed here; liberties were taken with the hand that guides me-
A better way to say it…..Grief became a brother-
A brother of sad wisdom and longing-
I asked him what he did to earn the title of grief and he replied
‘I was worthy’
More likely a sacrifice rather than a choice-
Night comes with its promise of peace + distance
Become like the horizon and fuse into silence, but as I travel with grief he rests in short spaces, with fitful breathing + disturbing noises
He mutters in his sleep-
Taking a rest from days of walking in silence + side glances at each other. I lean in and watch him as we sit under the stars at night.
I turn my ear to his mouth as he sleeps, + along come the broken fragments of a puzzle-
Snippets of dreams, promises, love, lust + hate, a ‘to do’ list as long as time itself + the soft nonsense of an emotion rattling in the cage of his chest-
Other people’s misfortune or his own past coming to claim him-?
Night after night, muttering things I can’t quite hear, try to piece it together or understand it?
My need to solve drives this compulsion to listen in to the grief-
Grief isn’t cold + fearsome-
He is attentive, gentle + patient-
Angered + he is brute force-
Doesn’t do his best work on days like that-
He is sharp shapes, low grumbles + glimpses of undiscovered colours-
Looks thru you with the dismissal of an ancient pledge-
He knows what he has to do-
When death comes to claim, grief waits in the shadows, all drawn into himself-
Standing with eyes averted, knowing he is needed, but reluctant to give himself up to it again-
The sunny side of grief is desire-
A lingering sense of what it is to be human, if only for a few moments each year-
He allows himself (or is he allowed- ruled or ruler)
The feeling or notion of desire-
Like the sun let in his chest- a smile all warm + fluid-
You can’t bargain with the grief-
He has no coinage + his hands are dry from the sands paying him tribute-
Few look him in the eye + the ones who do get a sense of what it is to be whole-
But the ones that look away + try to ignore him become drawn out versions of themselves-
Cast like long shadows from the winters sun-
He has a language for each of us-
…Go to the keeper of grief
Offer up alms, take extra duty to repay a debt we are yet to own-
But he doesn’t trust me yet – not because its’ me – but grief is inherently distrustful- it’s the nature of his job-
He grabbed the moons face in both hands and looked for a long time to find the place where he hid his promises-"
*
Another of my good friends took his life recently + i find that grief has changed his shape to me.
When grief 1st came to me - he was strong + intimidating...
But with each 'visit' - i find that he is comforting...i know him so well.
His 1st visit, he stayed for a very long time.
+ with each new visit, i find there is no need for words, we fit.
So he lets me get on with my work, aiding me in what way he can.
Usually he sits beside me + watches me play with the shadows on the wall till i fall asleep.
Other times he chases me down in the rain + yells at me till he gets the response he was after.
'cruel to be kind'
