When Everything is Good and You Can’t Stand the Sight of It.

Today, my life is fucking awesome.  If language isn’t your thing, try silence.  We certainly could use more of it.  I could, myself.

But, The Thing We’ve Come to Discuss.  Perhaps.  Maybe it’s just the thing that brought us here.  Certainly it’s the thing I bring to your feet to ask yet again if this Sunday you’d step in with me.

I love having you here.  You’re so good to me.

Today, my life is fucking awesome.  All week, all month, all year (because this year is only 22 days old ha!) I’ve been rolling in the goodness and light.

And yet.

“You’re restless,” he told me.  He, this man I love, told me about myself this afternoon.  He and I were in bed, lazy Sunday laying next to each other.  There’s me unable to relax, and him just as warm and home as ever.  You name a thing to make it real.  So it is real.  You call someone home when you aren’t entirely certain they won’t be taken away.  Won’t be burned to the ground or foreclosed on or sold.  I don’t know how to be safe; to be contented, or stable, or still.  Those are lived experiences and humble pie.

Tell me:

How do you sit still?

When is it enough?

How do you know?

How do you tell contentment from a stalemate?

I get lonely.  Noisy.  Start listing what could be instead of what is.  The discomfort of leaving is an easier skin than that of staying.  I don’t know how to say what I need or what I fear.  More than that is the wanting more.

I try to find it.  The stillness.  Why does stillness feel like such work?  One of the wisest women I’ve ever know told me staunchly and repeatedly, do not toil.  Do not toil.  But be still.

I wish we were more Roman.  I wish we still cast bird bones in the air to predict what’s to come.  I wish we’d sit with the gristle of our lovers stirred into our coffee and waited for the omens in the flavor.  Now might be the time for black magic.  But this post is not a call for action.  This post is about the ability to sit the hell down and breathe.

This post is about the wait.

There is so much fucking awesome out there.  Even in Trump’s America.  Especially in Trump’s America.

How do you sit still?  When is it enough?

This post is about the denouement.

Constant rising action is unsustainable.  Constant rising action results in a big old burn. How do we slow down?  How to persevere?

How to?

I love you.  I miss you.  I’m waiting, because I hope to see you soon.


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