waiting for dawn

The Dark night of the Soul :: Week 6

the time is now.
darkness is deep and dark, endless and thick

st john of the cross
st teresa of avila
the cloud of unknowing
eckart tolle
i read the wisdom of the ages, others exploring the dark night of the soul and their words scatter like sand across the pages, never taking root in my unsettled soul.

for now, i live my own wordless night,
express my own
explore my own
own my own
the dark, beating hours of the soul.
oh, lord.
how long, how long?

today the darkness sounds like charlie brown’s parents
hollow, vacant, unknown tongues, trilling emptiness

this darkness has no color, no form
yet it wraps itself around me like a heavy, damp woolen blanket,
luring me to sink into depths of consent.

i drop down into a tub of hot water and soak in the darkness.
maybe a return to the womb
maybe to cleanse myself
maybe just to feel buoyant
maybe to make myself feel something
warm
held
it doesn’t work

and then the call,
in the midst of a call
always enmeshed
always overlapping

she, on one end of the line, in her own self absorbed confusion, not so different than pre-stroke, unable to be present to anyone but her own discontent and the lifelong relationship of pain and demands and unmet expectations.

the other end of the line brings the known, expected and tender words.

“he’s gone.”

and, he has always been gone.

i sat in the darkened sunroom, alone. i cannot sleep.

slow.
detached.
muffled.
free-fall in slow motion
no emotion
no fear
dulled to the core

i wander room to room, inside to outside, moving from one bed to another, staring out blackened windows, listening for sounds of life.

i turn on the television and am met with the carnage and death, streets filled with fallen bodies.

have I felt too much?
am I on overload?
is it possible that i am devoid of emotion or caring or compassion?

or, is this just where I am
sitting in the dark
detached
alone
unknowing
waiting for dawn

will his death finally set me free?