A few days ago, an acquaintance on social media asked after my mother, situated as she's been since October as an inmate in a long term care facility. The words, "how's your mom," triggered a fury, a rage from deep in my core that I felt move through like flames through a transformer. I think it had been waiting for the right time, for me to be done and revived a bit after tending her for so many years because damn, the sensation was strong, complex, rooted not only in our disappointing mother-daughter relationship, but in a general lack; the poor soil of longing and the childlike worthy hunger for, well what? Of course there is a need to be seen. We're all wired to be noticed, acknowledged enough so that some dumb fuck doesn't crush you with Maslow's pyramid–Oh, didn't see you there! More than that, it is the desire, the heartfelt wish to share notes, textures, sensations of beauty with another; I am learning that to have to keep those deep feelings to myself–those experiences of being moved beyond speech, is often as painful as the thing was beautiful.
Humans risk instability in the undertaking of long swaths of solitude: I have felt at times, alone with mom during covid–which means alone–and afterward, that my inner self unmoors from my outer form; my ears hear the granular sound of the refrigerator running, but deeper in, it's as if I am sitting at a campfire watching sparks shoot towards the heavens in an attempt to summon the gods. Can I experience two things at once? Can I do this while pushing the right button on the elevator? How is it that this elevator does not open directly in front of the planet Saturn as I had hoped? This isn't my laundry. I realize that this isn't my laundry, and that Saturn is busy spinning, and that the campfire sparks might cause a fire. I know that it would be healthier to go speak with actual people instead of riling jealous Hera by toasting marshmallows for Zeus. It is foolish to expect that anyone you speak with might grok the depth of beauty that moved you to tears as you witnessed geese flying overhead, hearing the squeak of their wings, the wind hustling out of their way. The specific anyone you speak with might like it, but the moment is gone. Plus they might not like it. They might be distracted, wondering who has stolen their laundry.
Have faith. Stay the course. Keep your thing to the sticking place, and the other thing to the other place thing. There is nothing but new coming with tomorrow's sun. I can't know what that will look like.
This is fun, right? Right?
Fun, this is?
Oh, now but the snow is like sugar, catches the light...