Posted by: alegra22 | November 14, 2011

replenished

My mind has been receding for weeks, thoughts evaporating in the heat of illnesses and the constant movement of clean clothes becoming dirty, fresh linen torn from beds, thrown into piles, the vacuum pulled out, lines drawn through the hallway, living room, the tumbling blur of requests from my children. I’ve been at the bottom of my mind, looking up as the surface drew closer to my face, and I wondered why I couldn’t find any words. They were hiding where the shadows pool, where they could still breathe, where the water pressed back against the walls, fighting the heat, the thirsty, thirsty heat.

I’ve flopped, gasped, pressed myself deeper, wondering why I couldn’t find any sentences. The last of the water dried on my skin as I hung sheet after sheet on the clothesline, listening to the fragmented thoughts in my mind, the narratives that trailed off as I kicked at the laundry basket, bent down for another broken peg, stretched another sheet, and swallowed, my throat dry, the space beneath my skull pounding with the need for rest.

I felt the thunder as I hoisted our bedspread over the last remaining space on the line. A rounding out of the sky, a damp breath on my neck, a whisper across my scalp, giant jaws gently settling on my heart. In their power, the single word, “Surrender.”

Inside the house, animals are wild-eyed, hiding beneath furniture as I pull back the curtains, push open windows, and try to pretend I don’t feel the way my husband is moving resolved on the surface, but inside, his back is turned to me.

I’ve asked him to stay home tonight from a basketball game because my dreams have been filled with holes that I go free-falling through and I’m exhausted from being home all day with Zaviera and her fever. I don’t know how to tell him that when I wake up from my dreams, I feel those holes lining up through our lives, like a tunnel, when he is absorbed in the poker game on his Ipod, the small square of light illuminating the handsome lines of his face. I want to push into his arms, curl up, feel those gaps close in the comfort of his fingers that have always reassured me. His touch whispers to my skin that life extends beyond this moment and comes back again.  The solidity of his arms gives me permission to let go.

The rain begins and I am pulled back to rest in the shallows of my mind.

Drop by drop, heaven and earth mingle.

Drop by drop, I am restored.

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Responses

  1. I feel the same way about my husband. When the world closes in I can curl up against him and listen to his heart beat, slow and steady, and know I am safe.

  2. Beautiful! I am glad you finally found the words. I hope this is the tail end of all of the illness in your home. The storm has to rage through our lives and homes every so often in order to shake things up, give everything a thorough clean and allow it all to settle back into it’s place refreshed
    .

  3. Always, so good. And rest, my friend. Ask for that time…

  4. It is nice and tough to read these words, Especially where I am in my life right now. It’s that feeling of loneliness. Feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders and having no sense of escape. That drowning feeling. This piece reminds me of a very early piece of yours (which is only a few days ago for me). Dan is like an anchor to reality for you. It doesn’t matter where your mind takes you or how emotionally spent you are feeling, you look towards him for that safety.

    This is something that is strongly reflected in my own personal experience…in recent times. Without this sense of safety bad things can happen too you mentally and emotionally. Dan is able to help you with this. I didn’t do this enough in my past relationship. It’s great that you are able to see this in your marriage and work through these issues with Dan. Too much girl, too much.

  5. Beautiful, haunting…. Such a mingling of dream and reality.


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