She says to watch the waves. The tides are mixed, we wait for alignment.
It could take years….and in the meantime my bones slap against the equator.
The water is low.
Fish flop belly up with baby jelly beans dangling in reverse….the tide is turning.
Zenith encourages direction. I am vertical; midheaven.
God is intersecting.
What house do I belong in?
Am I breast and bone?
Am I flesh and blood?
Am I fire and system?
She says to watch the waves. We can go from there. The sun must first come
over the horizon. I strain East. I feed on the ecliptic axis and wait 90 degrees
like suggested. I wait
until I fall beneath the Earth. X lives here. X is virulent and understood.
X is ability and invasion.
She says I have to learn how to be with the disease. Who I am is bound
and fruitless. I will never find alignment when I greet
X in such short periods. X will never release the bacteria and set me
back on land,
where I can wait with the tides for alignment,
and drown out the suffering.
HI!! *wave* I’m so sorry I haven’t been following my blogs in ages! I like this poem. But you don’t have to suffer. Let the waves cleanse you, not drown you. I know, I suffer too, I often wonder why I can’t recover, why I even go on. But then there are the times when I see a bright surfboard on a high cap, and I remember it’s good to be alive.