A three-week streak, unthinkable, but it
was here. Imagine a perfect future through
to death without the slightest hiccup, and that
was my streak. Pride blew my insides out so I might
be a turtle without shell or feet, and I told my
father, for the first time in more than four
years, Dad, it has lifted. I think I’m okay. It’s
better, and I want to live during moments,
fat turquoise moments during ripe days, and
can you imagine the inflation of that pride, as I
dreamed of my father imagining that he might die
in peace now that he knows. Forever, his son will
be well forevermore. I woke up this morning and the
big, black, woolly, wet, cold blankets were strangling, poisoning
my spirit, and I said fuck you. Fuck you. Go away.
My blankets don’t leave on command so I remember
instructions: be with the pain: dig the pain: it is what
you are: be in the moment: don’t fight it. I rest
crooked in my chair and I cry for many long
minutes, and I’m afraid to call my father. I’m
defective again. Be with the pain. Three weeks
had seemed as if forever, but I was an egotistical,
overconfident prick to think I beat nature at her game,
much less to imagine beating God by countering his vehemence.
#1 by elettracavendish on January 28, 2013 - 9:47 pm
I don’t know how not to be with the pain. I have no great words of wisdom, let alone solutions to offer. But sometimes I know I simply cannot be with the pain. I rebel. In this way or that. I don’t know how detrimental this is to the “process”. I’m not sure it’s even about the process. Mostly, it seems to be about making it through the day. I would venture to say: be with the respite, be with those moments of stolen bliss, and perhaps not so much with the pain. It sounds so simple. I’m never able to detach from the pain. What am I talking about?! But fuck the gloom, yeah, fuck the gloom, even if God has other plans.
#2 by Carl on January 28, 2013 - 10:05 pm
Your comment is fulfilling, for you know the message at hand. I’ve been trying to learn from others that I get more pain when I fight the pain, and I need to always remember that the pain will leave even when it seems to be permanently embedded. It’s a battle sometimes and it might be best to surrender at times. Your comment means a great deal. Thank you for reading and commenting.
#3 by elettracavendish on January 28, 2013 - 11:52 pm
I think, of course, that you are correct… What I was trying to say, although a little clumsily, is that sometimes, while knowing it would be best to surrender, it simply doesn’t feel possible to surrender. Sometimes (for me) the struggle seems inevitable, even if rationally, I know too well that it is not the best approach.
Ultimately, in my experience, there is no roadmap. It’s never exactly the same, even if it’s always familiar. I know that the pain eventually dissipates. And the very awareness that there are cycles does help, yes.
I feel so inarticulate writing about my mental struggles! In short, I really only wanted to say (i) I hear you, (ii) I’m moved by your poetry, (iii) thank you for responding and also for visiting my site.
#4 by clinock on January 29, 2013 - 1:53 am
As a father I hope that my boys always feel able to share their highest highs and lowest lows with me. Love is never about perfection. Your poetry always touches my heart Carl, thank you for your honesty…
#5 by Carl on February 12, 2013 - 10:29 pm
John, thank you for your comment. I’m grateful for your reading and commenting.
#6 by Carl D'Agostino on February 18, 2013 - 10:47 am
Three weeks. Now that mighty admirable success for a mortal in a world designed by the Great Trickster.
#7 by Carl on February 18, 2013 - 9:37 pm
HAHA, Carl! You know. You know!