Chewing Words

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Archive for November 2010

day of the dead

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Like most things these days, I am hard-pressed to keep up on this fledgling blog. It feels like another responsibility, something else to nurture and keep an eye on when I can barely do that for myself. Hanging by the bloodied tips of my fingernails, digging into the unyielding rock face of my life. I can’t remember feeling this…what is the proper word to even describe it? I can think of nothing. No sensation. No adjective. No emotion. Everything I am, is caught in this ambered state.

Rather than feeling guilty about not writing here, I suppose my energy would be better spent recognizing the fact that I am doing it right now, and hey, that’s a start. But that sort of feel-goodism doesn’t really do much for me at the moment, which is perhaps all the more reason I should do it. Gah. I thought I would come here to unload. You know, write about all the stuff that weighs down the body & mind. But I can’t seem to even address it.

The past few days I have been so sad, recognizing the loss of a 10 year marriage even with all of its inherent ups & downs. Walking around the house I am still hoping to save from the bank, there are all these memories, lurking behind armoires and folded in desk drawers like phantoms. I have been reading Salman Rushdie’s novel “The Enchantress of Florence.” There are parts of it that remind me in small ways of how unfit I am to handle endings. I am too soft, not enough corners to poke back. Believing as I have my whole life that True Love conquers all, it was something of a revelation to read:

…she knew for certain that she had met the love of her life. ‘You don’t need those flowers anymore she told him, caressing them. ‘Now you have me instead to be your good luck charm.’

He thought, ‘Yes, I have you, but only until I don’t.'”

How simple. Yes, I have you, but only until I don’t. Why do some people understand this and other people, like me, don’t? And I’m not even sure I really wanted to stay with my husband or if I just wanted to keep an image of him, a created personage of his best self, the one I kept striving to bring out in him. Was I truly in love with him or was I in love with who I thought he could become? This is a tricky line of thinking. It brings to light the potential artifice of my own beliefs. For 10 years did I believe he could be someone else? Is that what I wanted? I am shamed to think that this could be the case. And to bruise the ego even more, I ultimately failed. Because this divorce has brought out the worst parts of him that I had helped him to surrender in some cases or at least hold at bay in others. On me he has loosed the entire arsenal of his worst self. I have stood in the barrage, standing for as long as I could. Today, though, today I am bending under the strain. Today I am buckling with the weakening of my ballast.

Tomorrow is Día de los Muertos. In windows and in homes are sugared skulls in gay colors. Pictures of dead ones are intermingled with the ofrenda, families celebrating the memories of their dead loved ones. I am caught by the macabre way Mexicans remember people they have loved. Skulls and skeletons dressed to the nines, tattooed with sugared scroll work. Perhaps for me there is a lesson to learn. A way to reconcile a death with celebration.


Written by cr8df8

November 1, 2010 at 2:09 pm