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blood to stone

I remember the color of my mom's skin when I was four. And still have a map of her moles. I remember walking on my dad's back, feeling my heel slide off a knot to the bone. My foot to his arches of a strange mountain range. And my aunt, his sister's, ceramic "cave" on my grandma's coffee table. Sat there in two, once it had broken.

There is something in these cells and how one becomes many. And they eventually decide for themselves. How sometimes they walk away, and may hate you or love you or neither. I think of the thin magic invisible line where they don't work or they do.

Last night, I dreamed that my grandma and dad were alive and awake. They knew they had limited time because they remembered having already died. Grandma had come back to fight this battle with her mind in tact. My dad had come back just to watch. To see the world spin around him and, this time, die with eyes open.

It was some kind of plea for consciousness—even as we know it's all gonna go. The things we need to stand for in the time that we are here. And to walk, eyes open, to the pain for the right to see the joy.

I held my crying goddess for an hour. Breathing in her grief and guilt, and breathing out my own. Feeling the cave of my heart, too solid; understanding how ribs could easily become too heavy to move. But breathing. And hanging in the eternity between my questions,
and her
"I don't know"

I felt my fingers slip off the edge of her rib, wondering of flesh and water and stone. And felt, on my own chest, the peeling back of the Y-shaped incision that a body in question comes down to. And the hindsight epiphany that we imagine will someday come.

The answer to what was; long after.


all is sorrowful and in perfect rapture: joyful participation in the sorrows. "my mother sorrows and i too sorrow, but i feel my mothers sorrows and not my own." liliana gave me that quote afterwords, in fact just this year, i decided it was about mother earth, well and also my mother, because they are the same thing... everyone's goddess is weeping and guilty right now... so strange... she cuts off her own head to release you from her bondage, maha kali... blah, blah...

and also, the comment i left on b's blog relates to this one, but i left it there before i read this one.

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