Stir that Lemonade

Sometimes a thing just resonates with you, like a sounding rod, like a shot right to the core.  It’s the weirdest thing, but I am there with Lemonade, by Beyonce.  It’s her new visual album.  I watched it the other night when I desperately needed a break from school and zing.. it just struck a cord.  I can’t stop thinking about the ideas and the things in it.  It stirred up some shit in me.

gorgeous underwater surface image found at https://sandroworrell.wordpress.com/. Check them out. GREAT stuff.

The other night I just kept thinking about lies and lying and the dishonesty with those we love. I thought about my mother’s lies, the root of my hatred of lies.  I thought about lovers and friends and my chosen family and the lies.  I keep thinking about other things in the video.  I thought about love and redemption and trust and healing.  She just went there, like for real.  And she came out of it too, and I thought of my own times recently when I’m remembering who I am.  I’m remembering what I am.  I got a little lost there for a while, hurting, healing, reeling maybe.  But I’m not that girl.  I stayed there a long time maybe, but I can’t live in self pity or fear.  I’m not that girl.

I am my father’s daughter.  I am resilient and forgiving and strong and tenacious.  I feel deeply and widely and strongly but never easily.  I don’t like being vulnerable, but I’m learning to be okay with my capacity to do so.

It still bothers me, this way I need people.  But I know that the fact this bothers me is the real bother.  People need people and I am not immune.  It’s the weird thing about vulnerablity being a strength.  My love can wear it down.  I’m remembering that I love me too, just not more than I love you.  I am remembering that I make plans and dream and actually make some of it happen.  I’m remembering that there is a long line of times in this world that you love someone as trully as you can and maybe they just can’t go there.  But it says nothing about you.  It’s about them.  And no.. this isn’t remotely about Traveler.

Traveler can go there.  He’s learned to speak and I’m learning to listen more and more and more.  He says the stuff because I love it, but I’m seeing it too.

And family.. well.. that one’s hard.  but isn’t it always?  Family is loving people beyond the parts of them that make you crazy.  I chose my family, but that doesn’t mean they don’t make me nuts.  Love them anyway.

I don’t know.  I just feel a lot of things popping up to the surface that have maybe been down under the waves for a while.  I feel myself rising to the shimmering surface there.  I can see the bubbles and feel the pressure of my breath held so long, but I feel it faster and faster.. I’m coming up.

The Crystal Ball Broke

 

It starts out whole, crystal clear and flawless.  It begins.  It is honed and shined and unblemished.  You made it and it’s beautiful. And then it comes, the first little crack. You said that and they knew what you were doing.  A small occlusion from the jarring.  But it wasn’t that bad. The sun still glints the same way.  The ribbon of refracted light is still perfect.

crack.

crick.

crack.

broken glass

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And the light bends.  The rays just don’t fall the same.  You’re losing colors..violet.. blue.. fading in your rakishly high tales.  It’s still shiny and see through.  It’s still beautiful.  It’s still a treasure.  The weight and heft are left.  The shape is still smooth.  You can see the ribbon in there but we all think it’s okay.  It’s just the tiniest bit of damage.  And you’re sorry.  That was a one time thing, right?  We were just scared or sorry or confused or not ready.  We were thoughtless.

snap.

crack.

The little bitty cracks add up though.  Each one is like a teeny ball peen hammer.. ting… ting…

It’s a small deep crevice there in the middle.  The rainbow leaves.  But it’s still bright.  It’s still light.  It slides and tumbles in your hand. We whistle in our fake nonchalance.  It’s fine.  It’s fine.  Still so smooth.  But is that a rift?

CRACK!

snip.

tinkle.

The rift has reached the edge and you can feel the craze.  Your fingers worry it like a loose tooth.  They run over it and over it but they can’t make it smooth.  It’s there.  And you’re losing light.  It’s getting trapped in there, bouncing around off of the things you broke, the jagged edges in there.  You tell another one.  It’s easier now and though the consequences are more dire, you’re less concerned.  Do you not see it?  Or do you just care less?

CRACK….. snap… tinkle.

A sliver is shaved off and falls.  The rift has veins in several directions now, so much closer to the surface, and the ragged creviced edge has its own facets.  Do you not know how to stop it?  Do you not see it?  A whole side is gray and lifeless, unreachable.  The light that enters mostly dies.  And it feels inevitable, doesn’t it?  You say another one, another.  You can’t even smile while you do it anymore, can you?  Do you shrug?  Do you sting?  Is it like you can’t help yourself? Or are you numb?

We point our palms at the ground and our walk works to pulverize the shards.

 

Nightmares and echos

I don’t know.  I don’t know.

I keep rankling and I can’t really seem to even put it into words.  I can’t. I can’t. I thought and thought about what would make me happy and that was me.  I make me happy. Always. no excuses. no shortcuts.  radical.

I think and think all the things that went wrong, that could go wrong and that did and could again.  I cling to promises and words that evaporated when you were asked about them, meaning I guess that you didn’t really want them. were you placating them? me? I ask over and over and over again if I’m a fool. am I a fool? is this stupid? foolish? wishful? willful?

You told the truth and it broke me and you learned to tell a lie.  or maybe you were finally honest?  with you? with me?  I don’t know. You said this to me and that to her and nothing to anyone else.  Because you were trying to spin the sugar, but it’s so fragile and I can’t get purchase.  It have no scaffolding, no spine.  You’ll say what I need you to, what they need you to, and never what you mean.  I’m afraid.  What if you said what you mean?  What would break then? someone.

What if everyone actually said what they mean?  All these webs of spun sugar, spun glass, brittle, crack. Continue reading