Loss
July 26, 2010
The hardest thing to lose
is our dreams.
We mourn less for what we actually lose
than for what we imagined having.
We get old and we know what we have tried and given up
but what we never tried, our secret wishes
still abide in us
and giving those up is giving up jewels
that kept us going.
I have spent years coming to grips
with what will never happen for me
with the “reality” people clonk over the head
of queer me.
And now, when heart hurts and feet freeze
and I think of loss
I just touch what I have already lost
all those potentialities
to know I am lost already
long lost.
Advertisement
July 26, 2010 at 7:53 pm
Perhaps you are right Callan – that our lost dreams stay lost, and what is gone is not simply gone from sight but gone for good. We share that perspective. But ironically, when I think of you, I also think how little is ever lost to you, or could manage to slide past unnoticed. In painting, that type of attention only comes (and then only fleetingly) in those moments when I fully set the self aside, emptying myself even of dreams – dropping them like so many spent ashes upon the Buddha.
And maybe that is true of you as well? That those raw spaces within you, carved from so many dreams both set aside or set asunder, are also responsible for how richly and fully you are able to receive? I don’t mean to romanticize any of this – there is clearly real pain in your losses, and deep grieving. And that grief needs to be honored and given its course and its due.
So let me also step back and clear the space of my presence. As always, there is nothing to say. I see you. That is all.
Much love
PS – I cherished your ‘voice message’ sent so many months ago. I have been late in replying to that gift but want to let you know it was received.
July 28, 2010 at 4:12 am
So I was up at a Pagan Day in Glens Falls years ago, and some guy was talking about power.
I asked a question about the feminine side of power, and he decided that there might be some power in being passive.
“Is that really what you want” I asked, “a passive partner?”
He babbled a bit. I stopped him.
“I prefer the word ‘receptive.’”
At that moment, the grown-up women around me popped, instantly owning that word as part of their power. They liked it, really liked it.
I’m femme. Receptive is what I am.
Thank you for seeing that.
Being receptive without being received, though, still feels very lost.
Heartbroken, if you know what I mean.
Thank you for your presence.