Saturday, June 02, 2012

River-Wrack

A heavy, humid Spring morning, chill but not brisk. The worst weather for doing massage: I'll break a sweat because it's so humid, and then the sweat will go cold on my forearms. Hate that.

Wishing desperately to turn a corner, to find a door in an ivy-hung wall and slip through to a secret, quiet space. I feel like I've been walking through clouds of spiderweb, and everything's clinging to me, holding me back: tethers without connection, distractions without interest. I know that I'm just anxious about the day, anxious about disappointing people, anxious about getting backed into commitments I don't want and can't keep.

I used to feel this way all the time: now it's an anomaly. I have to remember that, and keep choosing paths that lead away from the feeling and not into it. The feeling itself leads into the feeling, for one thing.

All this unhappiness, all this sadness, piling up like river-wrack on a weir.

Stepped out on the porch this morning, and in the sky a huge gray ship was foundering in a pale sea, in slow motion and in silence. The faint sound of a few half-hearted birds behind me, but nothing in front but that enormous impending ship, coming down to impale itself on the redwoods and douglas firs.

Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.

8 comments:

Jessamyn said...

If this is whining, I'm glad you did. Aside from the standing appreciation of language wrought finely enough to carry any sensibility (or insensibility) it's been like this for me for the last several weeks, too, because sometimes it just is: your post makes it easier to walk through.

And even though that image of the cloud-ship is ominous and scary, I love it and will hang onto it, because it's also right: the ship is cloud, not steel. It has real effects, but cloud disperses reliably.

Anne said...

Yes, this weather makes me feel the same way, as if the clouds are closing in and taking away all the space. I just keep doing little chores and hoping the sun will come out sometime soon. Hugs.

carolee said...

"Wishing desperately to turn a corner, to find a door in an ivy-hung wall and slip through to a secret, quiet space." i seek this constantly. and i like your "whining" as you called it on facebook. xo

Zhoen said...

Maintenance, has to be done.

Got a good shiatsu massage this morning, feeling much better.

Murr Brewster said...

You do not disappoint me.

marly youmans said...

Lovely foundering...

Lucy said...

Heavy weather, you will weather it, this time, and again.

Natalie d'Arbeloff said...

Hope the door in the ivy wall opens for you soon, Dale. Maybe it's already open, waiting to be found.