HelluvaGirl

Since I’ve been a teenager, I believed we all are, one place or another. Regardless of birth, death and every dimension in between, we are, all the time. 

That’s why I don’t feel much change after Mother Grandmother’s death. People would say: you never cry at funerals because you haven’t lost anyone you really loved, no one who’s touched and transformed your life.

But I have that experience and it doesn’t change much to me, except for the fact I cannot hug her when back in my hometown and tell her things about me in a regular conversation. Instead, I like to keep some of her things at home, like prayer books, plates I’d eat from as a child – I know those are just things, but also tender reminders. And though we don’t talk like we used to, she still is. Not just in my memory. She is somewhere else, and it’s temporary.

I believe our children also are somewhere else before the time comes for them to come to us. It’s like stretching out your hand and reuniting in this tangible world.

I take it very personally that I appear to have not noticed the hand stretched out to me. How could this happen? I thought I was so open to everything in the world. But because I am not, I am rejected – because I am incapable of being a source of life. I must be full of something contrary to it. If I am the gateway, then I must be closed.

I have to write this to myself because I still don’t believe it happened. Yes, I will go and find out but, as the curtain has been torn down from something my mind was protecting itself and I can’t pretend I haven’t seen what I have any more, I think I’ll have to go a long way to fully realising it.

It’s like being useless. Defected to the point you can’t serve the continuance.

Is that what I am? Am I serving on the side of those who have to go and clean the space for the worthy? The Book says these are exactly the times and I chose to think I was among the ones who’ll come back to become the new world.

I have to face the truth there is not enough Love in me.