I feel like I should start by saying that I’m still on hiatus. Reflecting on why I feel the need to say that is hard-

perhaps by saying that I’m saying, “Don’t expect too much of me, I’m not all the way back; I’m just trying to find my way there.” So continue to bear with me, the unreplied comments, unanswered emails, and otherwise unacknowledged communication is not a dismissal of you. It’s just me trying to hold myself close and together as best as I can right now.

Grief is so much memory, all the time in both waking and dreaming, it’s hard to know the difference. I’m living in The Moon.

Grief is a curious space to reside in- or rather the way it is living in my mind, body, and spirit is curious. It is not a static emotion, either so you can never get a handle on it as it shifts and twists from anger to sorrow to frustration to helplessness to ruthless focus to exhaustion to apathy to confusion to too much of whatever it decides to be with each passing moment. So while I somehow have energy to plan a funeral or press a scheduled post or write this rambling entry, responding to an email or grocery shopping or getting my car washed is beyond me.

my most recent reading, grief is deafening and honors no timekeeping of our own creation; I drink of all seven cups and feel bound to the noise of grief; I reach for my magic, cry for Oya who takes the dead, and she leads me to the wheel of life leaving me scattered everywhere even as I swear I find myself nowhere; I drink of all seven cups.

I’m learning that grief can also be incredibly noisy. We feel it alone, but often grief is a collective memory being fashioned out of all the ways we wail and whisper over the same loss. It’s deafening. Which makes the vacuum of feeling I sometimes fall into, a silence I create to retreat, all the more stark, crushing. I’m pulling verbs and adjectives from every corner of the universe to describe where I’m at at any given moment of the day and I’m yet to gather a set of descriptors that aren’t contrary to each other at the same time.

I want to tell myself that it’s okay to feel like this but I can’t say I believe it. I don’t like it; I feel no contentment; I’m half out of my skin at any given moment and saying that it’s okay, this is just the process doesn’t seem enough. I can also recognize the power of this place, this ‘tween space I find myself in allows me to touch something of the other than is harder to reach. It’s funny, I have no doubt that any given tarot readings right now would likely be the best I’ve done but I also know I’m in no condition to open myself up to harness and exert that energy. It’s like living with your breath perpetually caught, always at the moment just before release.

Guess I’ll stay here a while longer while my mind, body, and spirit figure out how to hold grief’s new knowledge. I’ll look for fairies, catch the glimmer of scarabs, and ramble some more.

Bear with me though, I’d like to be back soon. I’m enough of myself to know that I miss you.