Things seemed off kilter.
The sun was at its most orange. I’m not sure I’d stared into this shade of tangerine in some time. It was slightly brisk out, but warm in pockets.
My baby peacefully sleeping in her pram beside me. A mixture of ultimate bliss but somehow severe turmoil.
Wasn’t I at the end of all of this?
Wasn’t I THE end of all of this?
Just sunshine and roses from here on out?
I know in reality I am fine. Life is amazing.
But things still felt off kilter.
S T R A N G E
All that mattered was this light. Subtle warmth. Dogs in the background. Local chatter. Pitter patter
The last time I’d seen such twilight was at Hearst Castle. I made a point to stand at Mr. Hearst’s bedroom window. The sun cascading towards the sea for the night. A sunlit beam of grand proportions sliced my left eye. With my right I could see the jagged coast far in the distance. The silvery lined abyss of the Pacific. Rolling hills spilling into an aquatic infinity. I wanted to for a moment feel what he might have felt, looking out into oblivion out of his tower of Hearst Castle. A media mogul. Maybe the first. Housed in a self built palace. A haven for the starry eyed weary (and wealthy.)
The Gold room in the adjacent tower in all of its gilded glory. The light of day ending in the most magnificent show, each 24 hours more glorious than the last.
Truth threads these tapestry lined walls.
Charlie Chaplin Haunts these halls.
A throne for Clark Gable.
A theater for your mind.
A bungalow for Sinatra.
Realities left behind.
The New Year is racing along.
A Synopsis of Regret.
We must be better. We simply cannot accept our faults. Who we are, were and want to be. Better, Fresher. Updated operating system.
Add up the days!
Success or regress.
Was it possible to just let myself be calm? Without the voices. The screeching and hollering of judgment in my mind. Like the brakes of a runaway train grinding across metal and into the earth.
I keep trying this thing. It’s called “Be nice to yourself day.” Where I don’t pick my skin or say mean things to myself. I forget 87 times an hour and then, revelation!
“Wait!! Its be nice to yourself day! Stop this nonsense,” I try to comfort myself.
The real mystery being, why aren’t I nice to myself all the time? Is 2023 the year of self care? But not the SEO tag friendly keyword version. Self forgiveness opposed to a lavender bath.
I just need to let myself relax. I look around and apparently have over the years accumulated every possession one would need. In the style I’ve chosen to stamp my life with. Every cool book, pair of boots, camera & jacket.
But somehow somebody in the caverns of my mind cries wolf.
She’s a bad person. Zero Success. Online shops too much. Far too much caffeine. Sagging face, strangers carcass. A mother, forgotten lover.
Will I ever fit my jeans again? Do I want to ?
I pulled out every last one of my eyelash extensions.
I don’t know why. Just sat on the couch in a trance.
Is it anxiety or an excuse?
Accepting I’d taken things too far, I decide I won’t wear eyelash extensions anymore. Had I become used to the chaos? The complete feeling of helplessness that grief brings.
Falling falling.
Fight or flight.
Guilt.
Drowning in the tidal.
In my chest pocket was a pacifier and an apache tear. I’d been carrying the stone for months. I ran my fingers across its smooth surface. Natural volcanic rock. The description at the store said it would help with grief.
The legend of the Apache Tear is that 75 Brave Warrior Apache found themselves outnumbered against a battle against the US calvary sometime in the 1870s. Rather than be killed by the Americans, the Apache rode the horses off of a cliff to their deaths. When the fallen tears of their families hit the ground they turned into stone.
Carrying the stone holds the strength of a band of women making their way through the storm. Putting on a brave face as a mother or grandmother of earth, no matter what life has thrown at them to move on from grief and loss.
My tears have not yet turned to stone.