correspondence

i have been a member of the ‘prozac nation’ along the way of this life’s journey, he wrote…i have spiraled to the depths, fallen down the rabbit hole, and clawed and climbed out of it, time after time…but, its the helpless sinking that hurts the most, the force-field that keeps you from your language and traps your art beyond your reach….when it all feels so far out of your control that logic and the best intentioned, good-will of those who care are completely irrevelant…the downward spiral and consequent fall, the peering above-ground at your wide-eyed, terrorized self trapped beneath a thin layer of frozen waters in the paralyzing chill of an icy pond–all of it…i have stood at the top of bodega bay head, stared down onto a smooth rock partially hidden by the sonoma coast’s crashing surf and have imagined the words, “you are here”, in the scrawl of a small child’s hand…life=art=death, death=life=art…translate it anyway you see fit, doctor freud…so. you pop a little pill to bring you back and for awhile, miracle of miracles!  it brings you back and you’re alive again!  yep, i get it, honest i do…
 
but, after awhile, what pulled you out of the depths takes you so far into middle ground that you cannot feel anything!  no joy, no depression, no libido, no passion…just a deep well of nothingness…it too, sucks dry your creative juices and leaves you in a different kind of odd and empty lurch…so, now you are wiser and realize that nope, its not the magic bullet after all…but, now what?
 
and in this, where is the wizened crone?  where is she who once, on a broken sidewalk in paris, made her uneasy peace with the aging and the possible, even natural to a point, consequences suffered by the normal. older self?  how has she disappeared from this picture beneath the weight and comfort of food, while aches and pains and a constant unsteadiness join hands in a horrific sinking and a solemn farewell to the relief that art once brought to a life…
 
its one thing to be grateful for the gifts life has brought–and a whole other chapter and verse when the weights and shackles of ‘the sinking’ hold you down, stuck in its concrete booties for a time…without art, we often don’t know which way to turn, which road is safest to next walk on…often, its easiest to just tell the truth and wait it out… beneath the covers…beneath the deluge of such raw and negative emotions… 
Advertisements

About lindalou5150

as exercise or exorcism, i write...for the eyes of others, for my eyes and heart only, for the love and the rage, i write...to release the gamut of emotion...to tell the truth and say what's often thought but not written...
This entry was posted in poetry/poesy. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s