realizations

Those rocks that travelled all the way from India were not all for me. It took me a while to realize.

After some time, I had a sense of that. The rocks spoke to me, or something like that.

A woman in one of the circles I move in had a stillbirth a few weeks back. I hate this, I hate when things like this happen. I really wish Ferdinand was the very last stillborn baby because it kills me to hear of this happening to others. Anyways, I do not know this woman well but I was approached by a mutual friend and asked if I will be willing to talk to her. Willing? Of course. (although we have not really spoken, yet.) But I also wanted to give her something. I wondered if she journaled, then I could buy her a journal. I also know she’s a crafter, but did not know exactly what, and I thought maybe I could find out and buy her some things that she can craft with.

Then I realized if she already journals, then she probably has a journal. If she is a crafter, she probably has tons of stuff on hand and I really need not tell her to craft, whether for healing, or to do something in remembrance.

One day as I sat, I realized that the rocks were sent to me not for my exclusive possession. (Of course not, you moron, was what I said to myself.) They were meant to travel on. I knew I have to part with at least one of them, for that bereaved mom. Why? I don’t exactly know why. A sharing of the grief, perhaps. And I think I heard Ferdinand whispering, Yes, mom, exactly.  it’s really not all about you. I love you.

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Sometimes I think I wanna take a rock and pound my grieving heart with it, and my grief will be stronger than the rock, reducing it to powder, instead of the hard rock making a pulp of my heart.

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It is Summer Solstice, and I have not planned anything to celebrate. I just don’t feel like. No energy, and sulky, and drained from the anticipation of yet another anniversary.

I thought of July 29 and I still feel like cursing. I also realized if I wanna register the girls for some fun art classes, registration begins on July29 and that is when I should call them. And I thought, Why must you set the date to July 29?! On that day I will be as good as dead and the last thing I wanna do is speed-dial and redial your number a million times and be all chipper and polite and register my girls for art classes.

And then I know, it does not matter, because every day, somewhere out there, someone is touching his or her hand to the heart, feeling that throbbing pain and ache, and missing, and asking why? Every day, someone is hurting. Every single day, every single second.

Such a wide-eyed look Ferdinand’s death gave me of this world. And I mean this in a good way. So much beauty, so much hurt, so much pain. This is why we wanna escape from samsara.

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Lyra looks exactly like Ferdinand, when she is sleeping. It kills me. But I love to watch her sleep, it is so peaceful and sacred. It is loving that makes us hurt so much.