washing the sky


washing the sky

with the tears of yesterday

silver linings and all that aside

there is a sense of finality

when reason comes into play

i heard something on the radio the other day, "people with some depression are more realistic than normal persons." (Dr. Nassir Ghaemi) and i thought then as i think now, isn't it funny the snippets that stick with you, worm their way into your head and settle in for a lengthy stay.

yesterday while searching for a spot of beauty, driving to the park before the rain began again, i listened to an interview with Julian Barnes, an author that i more than quite like actually so i sat in the car, stared out at the pond and the milling people and dogs, undaunted by the raindrops forming on the bright green grass and i listened to his lovely voice speak of death and nostalgia and i found myself nodding more often than not.  and i love the internet because i can link you to the entire interview about his book, The sense of an ending, which i haven't yet read but have added to a seemingly never ending list that i hope to get time for at some point this summer.

i have been so down. and try as i might i can't seem to find a reason for it because my life is good, beautiful even.  the weeds come up the cracks, the flowers bloom all around and there should be an ease to my days but instead i push around grey matter for no good reason whatsoever.  there is no tragedy at play, no drama surging upwards or even downwards.  and yet. i am swimming through muck that doesn't exist.

“(on grief) And you do come out of it, that’s true. After a year, after five. But you don’t come out of it like a train coming out of a tunnel, bursting through the downs into sunshine and that swift, rattling descent to the Channel; you come out of it as a gull comes out of an oil-slick. You are tarred and feathered for life.” (Julian Barnes, Flaubert's Parrot)

and i have taken to going on long walks

around my neighbourhood, camera in hand

searching for some sort of truth

and i keep coming back to the shortness of life, to death.  and i find that i am not frightened by the thought of dying.  perhaps i am more frightened by the thought of living.  and i don't even know what that means anymore. to live. but that is the grey talking and somewhere in the glow of the light, i will remember.  i think it is okay, to be here in this place of not knowing, of wondering, of feeling not quite sad but not quite happy either.  these moments deserve their own time in the sun.

and i go to work, and i take the dog to training classes and walks under the trees and he smiles and pants and i dole out treats and praise and perhaps i need to retrain myself to feel again.  i went swimming on solstice and as i pushed my sloggy muscles through the chlorine water, the sun blinding me through my googles, the water building up towards an earache.  for a moment. i felt good.