Like a heat rising in my shoulders, sadness rises up and drowns my smile. Covers me in warm mud dragging me down to places I wish to avoid. This child inside calling out mimicing the barred owl. Is anyone listening? She calls out into the insect symphony. The sadness, too heavy, supported only by my allowing, spills around me flooding spaces I don’t recognize.
Ancient supplies this outpouring. Overflowing the container marked for sadness. No shortage of despair. It’s got a voice now. Nothing lost in translation. My body recalls lifetimes of heartstop, eons of tragic, scripts crafted by ancestors. I weep as the magnificence of remembering is spiked with deliverance of physical pain. Gutting my solar plexus as I stand in my aliveness. Shredding my throat chakra when I speak the words of my truth. Smashing my 3rd eye with the stay small message. Oh, then my heart, my beautiful heart – saturated with loss and love ripped from it’s protective cage and thrown to the floor like a used face cloth.
How big of a container would I need? To hold these lifetimes of sad. All that is carried must be gathered up and held and loved and revered. Like a mother’s love, safe, covered, hidden from the cruelty that surrounds. A good mother loving my sadness, witnessing and holding the mess of me. This is the remedy, a quest to open a vessel large enough to hold it all.
A Fish Named Karen 