Grief - keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.
Joy is the antonym. Quite fitting, seeing as it's this particular joyous season and all.
But this grief is a quiet grief. A rupture of words and a landslide of confessions (and, uh, a tsunami of sorries? perhaps a tsunami of words beginning with silent Ts?) that strangely and perhaps contradictorily resulted in extreme gentleness and exposed hearts the next morning. There is a time for the craft of wall building, but now is not that time. Now is the time for taking a sledgehammer to the slowly built walls; the hollowness behind the Sheetrock will be okay. It is okay. It makes the tearing down process easier and the excitement of furnishing foreseeable.
I use a lot of abstract language. It kind of gets on my nerves. Anyway.
Behind these walls are chambers, waiting.
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2 comments:
shivers, I request a poem made of these prose. I love the imagery. I love that life gives us imagery and that the most delicate moments haunt us painfully. The chamber reference reminds me of a book on meditation I read once by Caroline Myss, called Entering the Castle. The idea was that you enter into the different rooms in your mansion (soul) and journey through them, discovering what you are hiding within.
Your request shall be granted. Probably. I need to read "Entering the Castle." It sounds better than what I am currently reading, which is my journal from junior high. Okay, the journal is actually pretty great.
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