It snakes slow, a lazy river. Its pressure is nameless, and then I name it:
grief, built up over my existence.
Tributaries of hurt converge at the delta and
gain too much force, so
to relieve it.
God, it feels good to let go of that pain,
the pain of everyone I’ve met, that’s bled into me.
Something I finally understand:
there’s a well at each heart center,
full of the anguish poured in, by the bucket, throughout a life
infused by personal sufferings and by
those sufferings of others we can’t quite shake off.
Those sorrows from containers so leaky, they are
bound to mingle with our own waters.
A well only holds so much.
Sometimes, liquid must be ladled out in salty cupsful, must be
drunk and tasted.
I used to gravitate toward depression porn,
Radiohead,the great pity party of the Smashing Pumpkins, stories about dying young and staying pretty, I wanted some
novocaine for the soul.
But I quit all that shit. I’ve
rebalanced my chemistry, setting it afire with a
spark from the divine.
unexpectedly, in a movie, a book, a news story-
a child dies. A parent dies. It triggers me.
Another cup must be filled.
I have to be careful, though,
and not let the sadness swell too big, lest it
wash me away.