Wednesday, March 28, 2007

survived the month of murders

March is the last month of sleep for growing things, says my mother. She always buys a sack of good soil in March and replants all her many potted plants. In April, it's too late, because by then the plants have woken from their winter sleep and started their growing season. And they don't like to be disturbed, pulled up by the roots and shoved into a new pot with new soil, once they have started growing. Or so she claims.

March here at 63 degrees North is a grey and wet affair. The crystal beauty of winter ruined, like a wedding dress that's been dragged through mud. Spring still hesitating behind the corner.

Like my mother's plants, I am half asleep, weary after a long winter, too sluggish to hope for the sun. I survive, barely. My history teacher in school once told me that March is the month of murders and I can see why.

It always seems to happen in March. Half dead, I'm pulled up by the roots and shoved into something new, if only a new way of thinking. It always hurts, no matter how absolutely essential it is for my survival. After a desperate struggle to adjust, I slowly start to notice the spring sun, the world turns on its hinges and my growing season has arrived.

I realise it's more or less too late to replant my own potted plants by now. I go out and buy some shockingly yellow daffodils.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

not a very pious prayer

God, are you looking this way?

Was it you who woke me up this morning? Did you see me fight my way out of the anguish to get ready for another day? Were you trying to say something when I blocked out the words of everyone? Was it you who dragged me out the door? Did you try to get my attention with a ray of sunshine that made me wince? Were your words whispered in the mumbling of strangers in the street? Were you insistently making my phone ring when I tried to turn it off? Was it you who made me pull out my hair and shed tears of frustrated longing? Were you paying attention when I screamed? Are you the one who walked past me and made eye contact? Did you block my way and force me to look at you?

Are you laughing at me or are you saying my name, over and over again? Am I trying to get your attention or are you seeking mine? Am I cursing your name or desperately scrambling to get close?

I fight you. I cry for you. I hate you. I love you.

You shake me. Shock me. Force me. Deny me. Teach me. Protect me. Die for me. Cherish me. Love me. Love me. Love me.

a planet came looking for me

When I looked out towards the sea this evening there was the crescent moon with Venus again. If that is really Venus, that is - I should find out but my mind is too weary to go look for facts that I should know. Another thing to feel guilty about.

The sky was beautiful, that crescent and planet against the pink-gold sunset, and I was surprised to see it because I didn't deserve it. I have been languishing here in my grey prison for weeks with neither the energy nor the will to break out and I have come to expect nothing more. Sometimes I ask God and all other powers there be to do something, to break down these walls, but in the next moment I accept that he will do nothing of the kind because I can't, won't, help myself. Sunken into a stupor, I have accepted that grey walls are what I will be seeing for the rest of my life.

But then. The gentle light of a crescent moon, a shard of lunar glass. A rich cascade of sunset colours too valuable to waste on someone like me. A planet who has broken orbit and travelled closer to the earth just to show me that there is brilliance in the universe that I have yet to discover. They refuse to be ignored. Jolted out of my private room of misery, I stare in disbelief.

Just for me?

Monday, March 19, 2007

in the valley of the shadow of death

The silence is deeper than ever. Deafening. The dust settles slowly.

Death is still way ahead. I'm only walking in its shadow.

Monday, March 12, 2007

staring too long into the abyss

Staggering at the edge of the abyss, see it staring back at me. Is it reality I'm losing or is reality not real? If I step through the looking-glass, will I be more alive?

This world keeps ignoring me. Fine. See what I care. After a life of frugality, I will throw away my last penny on temporary comforts.

I just want to be alive.