Last night, I stumbled… metaphorically speaking… upon a decades-old crack in my pavement. It seemed like the tiniest split in the earth’s surface at first but it widened and its chasm felt too deep… too dark… she asked if I was okay and all I could say was, “I will be.”
And I was, after a bit of crying in the semidarkness that is my back yard. Bathed in the odd golden glow of the alley streetlight, I sat on the kitchen stoop with a dog at my side as I hashed and rehashed a very old pain.
It never ceases to amaze me how memories can footsweep us without warning. I watched a television show. That is all. All it took was the tiniest of trigger and my world was bitter and icy cold all at once. My magick failed me, or so it felt, and the metallic taste lingered in my mouth. Too much power… the memories held far too much power over me. It took all my strength to stay here and be present… going in to manual-mode… to feel safe… here.
I am sometimes grateful to find other wounded people – profoundly wounded people – because with them, i can spill out stories without feeling like I’m going to poison them with my pain. I do not wish to spill my stain on anyone else. She… my sweet S … is tender and she can hold me without judgment or patronizing promises. That gift of gentle love is something I am learning to simply… accept… without trying to shield her. She is strong. She is love.
Tonight as I wrapped up work and began packing up the most recent of thoughts in preparation for bed… I thought of Cohen’s “Light as the Breeze” (my favorite is Billy Joel’s rendition) and then I slipped into “Hallelujah.”
Many versions (perhaps the Shrek one comes to most people’s minds?) omit some stanzas. One of my favorite passages often drops from covers of the song:
I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
I went in search of the song while I wrote and found Rufus Wainright’s version, and Il Divo’s Italian offering. I listened to Cohen’s original recording too…all of this ever-so-quietly as she is sleeping (I pause to smile). I finally landed on k.d.Lang’s cover and chose that tonight with all of its sexual energy laced with what sounds like regret.
Devastation lays in the wake of many lives. Angry painful damaged passionate powerful messes we are, eh? And yet we dare to touch… even when we fear we cannot feel a fucking thing.
Here’s to touching… in hopes of… well, feeling.