blocked 🚫
mere months
after The Transition
of he who was The Force
keeping family afloat,
tethered,
ever so delicately.
without him,
shedding,
the masks came off,
niceties abandoned.
“Love” disintegrated
to the point of blocking 🚫
take nothing personally.
still, sad,
feels abrasive,
like a middle finger 🖕
borne of deep hurt
a sense of disrespect,
expectations unmet.
The Circle 🔵 dwindling
by death
and, now, blocks 🚫
everything
so tender,
tenuous,
ephemeral.
Suddenly,
left eye
redness,
pain,
intense light sensitivity.
oh no, uveitis, again?
so soon?
sadness born of
a knowingness.
“I did this.”
relentlessly
disrespectfully
pushed and pushed,
ignored Body’s
implore
to stop,
subtract.
Then the dream
set in another time –
childhood.
garbage overflowing,
unattended
and yet,
still present.
a father
feeding a mother,
their daughter
holding space
for others.
The next day,
head slammed
into metal.
where?
right above
the healing
left eye!
did the brain move?
was some semblance
of sense knocked into
the head, a subtle
and much-needed,
shifting of consciousness?
A few days later:
morning, bore witness
to a wake of vultures
tearing into flesh.
evening, a searing ache
in the middle of the head,
eyes burning,
bedridden.
relief, only from
sleep –
stop,
subtract.
“You go deep,”
they said,
surprised.
“Yes!”
I replied.
They weren’t ready
for My Depth.
I stay true.
There is a they
waiting
for me.
“How is Guirlaine?”
He, the CEO,
asked
her,
who formerly
engaged
weekly
with Guirlaine.
He was to do so now.
But He
seemingly
forgot
about
Guirlaine,
allowing her to
drift,
dis-engage,
become
more and more
untethered,
free
to explore
other realms & possibilities,
to consider
Thresholds & Gates,
and play in
The Liminal.
All is well.
All in Divine Order.
burgeoninc 