When reality unwinds, I seem lost to dream, and I cannot lift my head up anymore
BAM! My strength bounces back like the Something Amazing in a circus act waking me up from dormancy. Suddenly, made aware how ordinary everything else was, I want to fade back into that place between worlds and wish myself beside spirits I can only live with in spaces long and in between and lonesome, lovely, lost. The nooks and crannies where some humans slip and fall into, trapped like ghosts in the walls of houses, where consciousness is all you can imagine and yet is only half real, the outrageous state of half-being, a trip I do not recommend having.
I rejoice in being again when all is clear, and find my body, all this time, has been here . Today each movement mine is gentle slow and fine, my every thought blue-sharp and hungry-inspired, finger-ready to trigger the pencil and paint — this the different kind of drowsy that doesn’t draw me to the floor.
A wonder brings it home to me, that with each weakest moment, I remain unmolested by destruction, that with each touch of death, I am reborn more alive, and discover I’m getting stronger all the time.
“This is the most grounded I’ve seen you yet,” My doctor said. I stared at her thin, peach-pink lips in that cheerful, oval face with the soft mother’s chin. Her smile was genuine, cherub-like, sweet as a kiss, and I couldn’t resist believing her. “These last five years, Val, you’ve gotten so much stronger.” Her teeth interrupted her peach lips and a curl of her summer straw hair fell over her rose cheek.
“Really?” I said, rising up from the bed, the nurse tugged the IV out, and as I winced, I grabbed my clothes, already half way back home. “Really?” I said to myself on the midnight walk home, crossing through lines of gossamer, occasionally turning back to see the partial Moon. “Really.” I told myself, once home and hugged tight in the fur arms of my cat. “Yes,” I whispered into my pillow, when I lay in the darkness, smiling, “Really!”