Distillation

It is one thing to have a heart wakened from blind submission into awareness. It is then another to have a heart capable of questioning in pursuit of deeper faith. And finally, armed with more knowledge, it is a feat to have an obedient heart.

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It's hard to unangry yourself when the situation has you already ticked off. And this incessant coughing (it's been what...8? 9 weeks?) is definitely not helping.

When do I get to feel normal again. It's been 4 months. 

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Am trying very hard not to let it get to me. And am failing quite miserably.

What hunts me down

I get these nightmares. I call them "running" nightmares, in which I am invariably chased by a villain. A someone or something. I don't get them very often now but lately they seem to have made a reappearance. How disturbing. At least it's not every *i shall not swear* night like back in pre-U but still.

I've never not run in them. Several nights ago, for the first time ever, I gave up. Well, my dream-self gave up anyway. That never happened before. I remember getting 'caught' once, but it wasn't because I stopped running. I was just caught. That particular nightmare ended with me waking up still feeling the fingers closed in around my throat. I felt it. It was so real.

But this one, the one that I stopped running in, I was just caught & got my legs broken over and over. It wasn't 'painful' in the normal way but it hurt my mind. I can't explain it.

Anyway. Nightmares? They are not fun.

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I've been in denial for the past 6 days and now I don't know how to feel about this anymore.

I saw the snake my maid spoke of just now. It was sitting in Fluffy's favourite sunbathing spot. Fluffy went missing 2 days after she first saw the snake. And she noted how the snake was thicker back then & smaller today.

Maybe now I can just cry. *sigh*

Back beat

I grabbed my copy of The letters (Kerouac-Ginsberg) and opened to a random page. They're so charming to each other. My eyes stung. I snapped the book shut.

Fluffy

Remorse, guilt, grief. And a sense of denial that have you hoping endlessly and with each waning day, dying little by little. 

My heart clenches each time I fling open the kitchen door expecting to see him sleeping in his cage. And each time, instead of Fluffy, I'll see that pesky white cat that usually comes to steal food and sleep with Fluffy in his cage. It's a nasty feeling, that crushing disappointment of thinking it's him. That glimpse of white fur, followed by dread and unmistakeable sadness. 

Fluffy is family. He's been with me for the past 12 years. I can't bear to give up hope so easily. It makes me think of those people who had family and friends aboard the 370. No body, no closure. What unspeakable suffering.

The Edge

Sharp, present and there

         A line stretched

         A straining eternity 

         An almost sound

Balanced, backed and waiting

            A collapse held

            A drawn halt

            A frozen want

The edge sits

       cruel and inviting.