Is it possible to love someone and when they die, we do as well? Then I ask, is it a worst fate to die in reality or figuratively , as dead is the only word strong enough to accurately depict the hollows of one’s heart after knowing true loss. For it is those of us that are forced to be both living without life and dying without death. For in the moment the one we have loved all our lives leaves we became shattered. The only comfort I am convinced I may ever know again is by breaking all the pieces of life that within me remain?
Shards of dreams, splinters of love, remnants of hope, and of unraveled threads of faith, all unrecognizable. For without my brother nothing appears to resemble its previous form.
For the morning I learned Joe was gone, I could no longer relate to another living person. I could not speak nor have compassion for those who didn’t sit as I sat, and even if they had known grief I judged that as well. Unable to relate to anyone or anything I had always known as my truth. So I identified only with the destruction, despair and devastation. I was safe within the disheveled life that had become my existence and I was constantly seeking new avenues in which I could perpetuate my time there, to avoid the inevitable.
To put away my sadness and let him go was an idea for too long I was simply unwilling to entertain. However, the risk of putting it back together, knowing it at anytime could once again break. That has been a fate for me worse than death.
I don’t profess to have any answers anymore to things I once knew or even wanted to learn, but I am certain another loss would be more than my heart could bear.
So I sit, content within, alongside and drowning in my sorrow, I relish the tears I still cry for him, For although gone now, they prove yes, yes, see, see he once was here!
I have refused to accept my brother’s death so rather I accepted and found my only comfort and connection to him in the massive pile of broken stagnate life . Heart-wrenching has become my identity and one I cannot let go of. Perhaps, it is the last one I will have in which he will still be a part of rather than a memory or picture in a frame.
So for three years I have sat, up alone almost every night. For endless hours I sit clutching on to my pile of pain. Sickly almost enjoying it more when the world is quiet and asleep dreaming of things I confess no longer matter to me and I can cry and scream and hurt without reveling my pain, and causing others to feel helpless for no one could fix this. No one but Joe.
One night I asked Joe just as the loneliness I craved began to take over after I had put the children to bed. I asked him why night had such an almost magical way about it. Able to amplify the deepest of our scars, Scars that in the sunshine we can not see but at night the pleasure of their pain becomes an almost secret longing. I purposed a foolish question out loud. Joe does there exist a secret agreement between the moon and death? Did they make a pact unknown to the living?
The moon promising some nights to stay hidden as if lost from the sky, giving death the ability to quietly, under the veil of night creep in through the window and rob from the world a soul. In my case a soul who’s equal I will never find again. Then once death has taken what he had no right touch, it would be the moon’s turn to take the stage. For the moon knows as best that inconsolable pain doesn’t not allow the grieving to sleep.
Rising with purpose directly over my house of sorrow. Shining so brightly, another reminder one in a sea of millions of what I once saw as something beautiful matters no more. For everything including the moon is but another way in which the world cruelly mocks me as it spins on and on. Forgetting or simply refusing to acknowledge my pain, I no longer care which. Yet every rotation ensures the moon will come once again to play its part.
Magnifying and illuminating the million prisms caused from the broken pieces of my life and my pain. Dancing and floating. Dancing without care or concern, all over my heap of hurt, that I have for so long refused to hurdle.
Mesmerized by the reflections of such carefree movement. Captivated I sit alone, and stare, I forget about the moon and death and the question I have asked. All I can do is sit. Sit and think…repeating over and over within my head, screams of the ache in my resentment… believing ….. I will never dance again.
A heart is made from two angels working together
Two facing mirrors crabb Robinson love true human love ie two hearts like two correspondent concave mirrors having a common focus. By sweet thoughts & sympathies
Two mirrors imply mutual influence contributing and accepting love
Interchange of energies a cycle of influence
From sun to moon to earth and back again to the moon
Stuck on the moon
A communion of energies each serving to evoke a response in the other
The ability of the moonlight to cast a sudden charm over a known and familiar landscape
The minds ability to exert its own influence
A balance Bayern activity and passivity receiving and giving.
Destiny of nations lines 16-17
Avoid mere painful copying
Would produce masks only not forms breathing life
The idea that puts the form together cannot itself be the form
It is above form and is its essence
The glance the exponents of the indwelling power
Abstract notions into a picture language
Which is itself nothing but an abstraction from objects Of the sense
Symbol is characterized by a translucence of the special in the individual of of the general in the especial if the universal in the general
the eternal through and in the temporal
The other are empty echoes sloping orchard or hill side pasture field seen in transparent lake below
Veils the blaze of the sun. Apt emblem so ritual reality that shines through all created things
Invisible realities or spiritual objects
A world of reflective resonances
God whose eternal language is audible not to the corporeal ear but to our inner sense of reason
The divine voice speaking through natural forms
If the child becomes attuned to spiritual reality inherent in the physical world he she needs will be moulded by the universal teacher
By giving to the child’s spirit god will also make it ask
Silent icicles quietly shinning to the quiet moon
Opens with a muted motionless balmy atmosphere
Be loved like nature
Lines 49 -86. A harmonious world of resonances and reverberations
Gentle Maid who likes to roam there
Imitative lisp natures play mate
Did glitter in the yellow moon beam
In silence listening like a devout child
Now beneath the stars
With momentary stars of my own birth
Fair constellated foam now a tranquil sea