Stationary Abyss

As the leaves fall and seasons change, I’m home again. Home. There’s a familial concept often devoid of proper sustenance and sustainability in a world that is constantly evolving and changing your narrative without consent.  My dog and I walk, we sit in the sun, I write, he guards. The leaves fall as the concrete jungle echoes in the surround sound.

 

The past twenty-four months or so have been one hell of a ride. Palatable heartbreaks, unpalatable contentions, the loss of self and soul, the absence of ride or die truth sayers. The list certainly doesn’t stay static. About a year ago, my Dad said he had cancer. We had known for a few weeks before we told anyone. We knew. We thought it was lowkey, minor, just another blip on the radar. It was not. Last October, I received an award, and after FaceTiming my Dad, my friends said he looked sad. I couldn’t tell them then. I couldn’t tell them why I was crashing out that weekend. Less than a month later, urgent and emergent plans changed the way life unfolded. I finally made the call to tell someone. That turned into a colossal bullet to my gut; it’s one I’m not sure I’ll ever recover. The wound remains raw, open, and large. 

 

Everyone says I handled the past year with such grace and ferocity. I didn’t. I hid behind closed doors and turned off screens to lose my mind, heart, and soul. Part of me went feral behind those fastened portals, never trusting and terrified to let cracks of light in again. The ferocity of the moment remains. The feral may subside, but it probably has elements intending to stay like a tattoo from an ill-fated drunken night. 

 

Back home, the eternal churning of life and a lack of balance pervade. The writer’s block is soil crushing. The tarot spread advises me to believe and lean in, as it will unfold through creativity and expression. My expression this morning was devoid of emotion. 

 

Perhaps I’m a little lost. I am possibly needed. Cycles of life do this to us all. Sometimes we are rife with pride and friends. Sometimes we lack a sense of self and direction while riding the tidal wave alone. These are the practicalities of it all. 

 

As the leaves start to fall and the seasons change, I face the reckoning of life and emotions I’ve perpetually put on hold. The compartmentalization needs to be redefined, reevaluated, and resurfaced. In the end, I’ll be fine. I always am. Sometimes it just takes a moment to pause, evaluate, remember, and refine the conceptual space of self, person, and design. The stationary abyss remains heavy like a cement block chained to depths I didn't know were there, while at the same time stationary comfort brings a sense of ease to forget the lost time and emotions of relationships gone to the stars and divides of time.