Bless Me If I Stay Alive

Freezing a waterfall is not…easy, since the water molecules are continuously moving and can therefore easily detach from the bonds holding them together. ~ Ashish

 

When I was 10, I wrote a letter

to my grandmother, seeking

facts about her lineage.

Finally, at 26, over cocktails,

she confessed she’d received

a missive from a maiden grandaunt

upon her marriage, an envelope

filled with family facts.

She’d pitched it, saying,

who cares about this shit?

finding out exactly decades later

reading my request.  Those are

our only two encounters I recall.

Still, I carry my grandparents’ enmity

like this photograph, a frozen

waterfall of immense power

inaccessible to two

drunk teenagers, dismayed

by the arrival of needy

children exposing their own

unaddressed wounds.  Only able

to call for more

alcohol and hatred,

finally repelled like magnets

from each other and the seedlings

their brief union sprouted.

I’ve tested the ice gingerly

to arrive at their trauma

locked inside my own genes,

now demanding I thaw

what has been blocked.

And so under the heat of my

regard, I set out to accomplish

this feat, releasing the flow

of energy to my own

descendants waiting impatiently

downstream.

 

Inspired by:  Photograph, Enmity, Letter and Accomplish.

Title inspired by Bert Hellinger in Looking Into The Souls Of Children, “Behind the scene we…see something else is at work, and the individual is at the mercy of something that does not reveal itself easily…other powers are at work, and the people involved do not understand what’s really going on….Go to these dead…and say to them, “Bless me if I stay alive.”  

Photograph taken 1981 in Queen’s Canyon, Colorado.

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Plays By Intuition

So many women in my lineage

had no chance to grieve:  

file that in the DNA

and hope for someone like me

to open

a container big enough

to hold the river of sorrow

without being swept away.

Precariously crumbling footholds

where I patrol.  In the darkest hours,

often forgetting who I am,

losing my light,

peering into the rising

waters crashing below me.

The lineage-trauma breathing

through me, and I’m pondering

madness, defined as it is

by people who know

the control of the narrative

is imperative.  I mean, I’ve been 

the pinball

racking up impressive scores,

slamming into an obstacle

and triggered into flight

only to hit the next

target, over and over.  

Is my age

showing here? Does anyone

play pinball anymore?

Such a counterintuitive move,

to simply relax, falling

past the electric shocks

into the drain. 

Not in this society,

missy.  You stay in the game.

All the rules defined by 

the people who need

you to be distracted

when your rage ignites.

Look online, track the

spiky statistics to determine

who likes you.  The days

spinning, whirling, sick

until the sleepless night

claims you

and dark thoughts lead you

once again

to the steep cliffs of despair.

Inspired by:  Madness, Spiky, and Ignite.