A Beacon of Hope
I check my iPhone every 11–12 minutes probably. Please scan my thumbprint for security & hope.
Waiting to hear from you through any channel, text preferred. But nothing. You’ve gone dark on me. It’s getting worse. I don’t want to do anything but listen to lo-fi experimental jams(on another device)& wait. Waiting for you. Your discipline is remarkable. I’m not that strong, but I resist. Giving you space & time. Against everything I’ve learned. Be real, follow your instincts, go with your gut, do not hesitate. But no, I remain strategic in hopes of a reunion.
I’ve become so familiar with joy & pain these last 10 years or so. Joy is all around me, we are close, appreciative partners. Pain is everywhere as well, but has some kind of way, when it rears it’s ugly head in my path to continue to surprise me, to body slam me. I don’t want to accept it, nope, currently at capacity, sorry bro. As I hold it off I contemplate, can I just take it in, store it, & move on? Throw it on the pile, live with even more? Hope for a wise smile? Almost a pride in carrying it & carrying on. But I don’t want it. Not right now, must I?
The pain of the broken heart. The pain of love. The pain from a woman you love with all your heart. It’s the worse kind. If you’re lucky, you only experience this type of loss 2–3 times in this short life. Art, poetry, & music all supply plenty of how-to manuals. Sometimes temporary solace & sometimes retained as navigational maps to carry on.
Heartbreak & setbacks all have their own distinct nuances. A former experience doesn’t always provide guidance into the new. Wisdom grows, but emotions & wisdom remain arch enemies. Joy is euphoric, it can be a constant energy if you are able to center yourself in gratitude. But no amount of meditation can deem you bulletproof. A heart always has room for more hurt. Limitless storage for that shit. I try to hold it back at the gate.
Before we march through this moment & throw away any tomorrow, let’s consider the amount of storage required for the memories, the dreams, the unfulfilled plans, pure uncut nostalgia that we will have to box up & store behind all the pain. Heavy lifting for sure. The work may have to be done, but there may be an alternative. Joy is waiting. It’s no less complex, just patient, empathetic, compassionate, & forgiving. It’s the light. Both Joy & Pain can fuel our fires for the good & bad. But at this time, in this moment, I see very clearly a joy that is dying to sparked, scared that it will be left to remain dark.
So I wait like a monk at the snowy lake. Checking my phone anxiously, it’s not too late…