Thirst
Posted on | March 30, 2008 |
The ache feels like frostbite, slowly traveling from the peripheries towards the very center of my chest. It’s the kind of ache that you can’t put a finger on and say “here, take this, do this, it will feel better.” Instead it’s pervasive, a wash of heartache, the color a cloud-torn sky after sunset, muted, when indigo starts to unfurl across the heavens and shadows are black.
I’ve never felt this way before: followed by this unnamed dread, this sorrow, and I keep turning to look behind for the hungry dog of my distresses that hides in the bushes, waiting. I never do. I don’t know where she lurks like a bitch in heat, howling in the middle of the night, scratching at the door of my contentment. In the morning there are splinter’s everywhere and my head’s a mess of fragments. It’s still winter. I keep saying this is the problem. I keep blaming the shivery sliver of mercury hovering below freezing. Ice makes the puddles filmy, and bubbles rise when I poke my booted toe in.
But maybe it’s more. Maybe even with longer days and supple heat and petals this thing will gnaw at me. Some days it feels like I’ve swallowed the missing shard from a pot glued back together, the porcelain pieces pressed so close the adhesive running between them looks like transparent veins.
Maybe it’s this: I dream about breaking clocks. About scattering the numbers and the minute and hour hands across the snow; about leaping from the clock tower and having my fall take forever, weightless, because finally there is enough time.
I wake up and throw myself at the day. I know this isn’t graceful, but animals aren’t when there is a terror or a wound to lick. It’s like I’m always at the edge of the forest with the scent of smoke curling at my nostrils. The days are too short, and at the end of each I am still thirsty.
Comments
10 Responses to “Thirst”
Leave a Reply
March 30th, 2008 @ 3:55 pm
You made all the hair rise on the back of my neck and my arms. *shivers*
March 30th, 2008 @ 10:47 pm
oh sister of my heart. you eloquently speak my mind.
March 31st, 2008 @ 1:39 am
You sound how I felt a few years back. How did I fix it? I made big changes in my life and got away from the things that made me sad. I hope it all comes clear soon. Take care. Jane
March 31st, 2008 @ 9:58 am
My experience is that I often want to “fix” stuff too quickly. I have found the wash of heartache is sometimes best endured, held close, as my soul needs it, desperately. When that need’s fulfilled, the world revolves so what seemed despair turns, unveiling a height of joy that equals or exceeds the depth.
March 31st, 2008 @ 11:47 am
This picture is incredible, I love the colors. Only wish it didn’t accompany a difficult time for you. I hope you find your way out quickly. BTW as I read your dream I envisioned a biological clock…weird huh?
March 31st, 2008 @ 12:28 pm
This is a haunting post. I pray you find relief soon… Take care of yourself.
March 31st, 2008 @ 1:13 pm
That picture is amazing.
Your words hit deep in my heart.
March 31st, 2008 @ 5:10 pm
I’ve learned to lean into the sadness and sorrow…
I’ve learned to make friends with the parts of me that feels neglected or foreign or forgotten…
Desire and dreams, they have the power to inspire or torment…
I read a book recently, called “The Beautiful Ache”. Here’s an excerpt that helped me when I ended and began each day “thirsty”…
“Real life seldom fulfills our wildest hopes, and the gap between what we have and what we long for can open quite wide. Occasionally we catch a vision of truth and beauty that takes our breath away and reminds us of what we miss. We are richer if we do not look away.”
March 31st, 2008 @ 7:47 pm
{hug}
April 1st, 2008 @ 2:29 pm
or, to append to Lyric the words of Kierkegaard:
“The most painful state of living is remembering the future.”
which is why, of course, we are “richer if we do not look away.”