Wuthering Heights 1989: Flash Non-Fiction

Re-posted from Art For Ever's Facebook page

Re-posted from Art For Ever’s Facebook page

The receiver is held tight to my ear. I hear him breathing. He’s likely said all he’s going to say, but I haven’t been listening for some moments now. I hang up and stand in the bedroom. I hear the cars moving along Whitman Avenue and the refrigerator shakes it’s cubes into the tray. Mrs Knapps’s dog yaps at a passing bus. I stroke the bedspread as if a cat and become consumed with a bit of lint on the rust-colored, seventies style, shag carpet. I stare at it, as a lost eighteenth century mariner might gape at seeing the Rock of Gibraltar upon the horizon. Unfortunately for me, there is little salvation in the lint.

The crying starts unnoticed until I am in motion and wailing. The pacing is as comforting as a rocker. Back and forth, a lioness stuck in her cage. It goes on like this for sometime, until the sun has set and the furniture have become fat ghosts sharing my miserable company. Whoever I think I am is now gone. I wring my hands, gnash my teeth and Where the Wild Things Are comes alive in my living room. An entire life planned out, suddenly gone from under my feet. I drift in the apartment completely lost at sea and consumed by a sickening, emotional scurvy. My inner map has stretched as far as it’ll go. I am in uncharted waters and it’s depths are pulling at my skin leaving me nearly transparent in the bathroom mirror. A creepy jellyfish woman with mascara streaked cheeks.

A rage is brewing strong and at any moment I will brake the cell of this room and run wild into the street, I think. That’s when I hear the knock. Stopping to listen, the crying held back with Herculean effort it comes again. A small voice.

“You left your lights on”.

What? It makes no sense. A five year old’s shuttering sob racks my limbs. Who the fuck is interrupting my death wail?

“Miss, you left your car lights on”.

Air drifts out of my lungs on the simple reality. My car lights are on. My world is crashing, but in the end it’s a Tuesday night and you’ve got work in the morning. Wiping my nose on my sleeve, I grab the keys. A dead battery would be like insult to injury, and here you are in a curious moment. Opening the door to thank Mrs. Knapp as if for a basket of biscuits on Sunday and pretending you don’t look a horror show. She smiles, and I hope she’s blind and not offering me pity. Jogging down the apartment steps, heart torn out, but remarkably mobile. Spry even. The wind feels cool on my skin. She’s telling me about that time she had a dead battery and I’ve gone from crushed heroine to benign neighbor. Instead of Wuthering Heights your trying to keep her dog from humping your leg.

Sometimes life turns on a dime. No interruption and you spend an evening slipping into depression and misery. A bottle of wine spent, snot-filled tissues littering the floor, maybe a box of Oreos diminished to crumbs. Or get interrupted and lose that momentum to be completely self-absorbed. A lost chance to be fully lost. She wants to talk about why the rose beds aren’t being kept up. “It’s a tragedy,” she says. I realize I’ve got nothing to give the miserable rosebuds, but I suddenly find I’ve never been fonder of them. She pats my hand, but says nothing. Shit, she’s not blind.

The wailing has gone and I am left with ordinary “You’ve been betrayed and dumped” crying. Not nearly as dramatic as the wailing. And in that I feel the most bereft of all. Not even my grieving feels potent. That’s when the mind turns off and you go make your lunch for the next day and lay your clothes out. You put on a rerun of Seinfeld and pretend you’ve never seen this one. It’s odd how quickly being alone again sinks into the bones.

A work in progress from Writer’s Church, hosted by Marj Hahne. Inspired by “This is the Beginning of Time” by Sherrie Flick

Paradox, Humor and Change

Re-posted from Meditation Masters Facebook page

Re-posted from Meditation Masters Facebook page

“Life has three rules: Paradox, Humor, and Change.

– Paradox: Life is a mystery; don’t waste your time trying to figure it out.

– Humor: Keep a sense of humor, especially about yourself. It is a strength beyond all measure

– Change: Know that nothing ever stays the same.”

― Dan Millman,
Way of the Peaceful Warrior

Little Gem

Re-posted from Enchanted Nature Facebook page

Re-posted from Enchanted Nature Facebook page

“Can you imagine if you really let it in that you are not a problem to be solved in any way? Imagine you knew that anything that would tell you otherwise is just a movement of thought in the mind that says “Whatever is, isn’t the way it is supposed to be.” So the biggest act of compassion starts within. And when the self is no longer seen as a problem, this is called “the peace that passes all understanding.”
~ Adyashanti

Took Back

Re-post from Art For Ever Facebook page

Re-post from Art For Ever Facebook page

I took back the night
First, by comfort and warmth
Wrapping tightly in fat blankets
That sorrow could not reach

I took back the night
Warm cocoa in big mugs to sooth
A dark wretchedness in my soul
Warm tears in dark hours – spent

I took back the night
Opening wide window sashes
So moonlight, fireflies and little moths
Might dance in my mourner’s room

I took back the night
With hard letters burned in fires
To dead loves gone
But for their shadows in my head

I took back the night
Hope, a thought, a light brick
Layered in a house of joy, half finished
A frame waiting for laughter

Inspired by Michael Robbin’s poem, “Be Myself” in the April 2013 edition of POETRY