part of that is the denial one clings to while leaning precariously upon coping mechanism after coping mechanism to help one stagger through the days. part of it is shock. i have loved Christmas wholly, unabashedly, giddily all my life. childlike only in ebullience, in transparency, in glitter-strewn hope. familial strife always managed to accept hibernation’s bit in time for me to fill to brimming with timeless joy, with the love everyone else associates with Family year-round; personal tribulation always waned in the face of communal conviviality, of celebratory ceremony. even when i reeled (continue to reel) in the aftermath of heart-rending physical tragedy, peppermint-scented cheer rooted me in cozied charm, garlaned optimism, glorious vulnerability, laudable rebirth. but not this year. this year, it was everywhere but within me, and it hurt, it hurt, like scalding water striking a burn, the year’s-end spark pierced. because i finally could not be anything but devastated in the face of the rampant truth of unresolvable discord. it was so much a lie, this year, and so little of anything genuine. fully-realized was the depth of my aloneness. i have been crying it out in piecemeal ever since. i have ruined it, i fear. i awaited Christmas with such piquant desperation when younger that my dread now aches, dully, seismically. am i to lay all good to waste thusly? is awareness so deadening, so hypothermic?
My task which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word to make you hear, to make you feel — it is, before all, to make you see. That — and no more, and it is everything. If I succeed, you shall find there according to your deserts: encouragement, consolation, fear, charm — all you demand — and, perhaps, also that glimpse of truth for which you have forgotten to ask.
During these periods one thought enclosed everything like the blue sky of history: that it really was this and no other.
Intense love does not measure, it just gives.
The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes.
There are times when those eyes inside your brain stare back at you.
Isn’t awareness fun?!
and familiar, of course it’s familiar. it’s the emotional/mental equivalent of what i’ve already endured physically. let’s hope i learned the lesson my body tried so vainly to scream out as i fled the malediction.