I Felt Something Today

I felt something today. I saw a hawk pour out of the sky. I saw its wings catching the wind. I heard it screech. I got my longboard out and rode the street. Leaves danced across the pavement. I began to cry.

Something wants to come out. Something inside of me. It scratches at my heart. Drags its long, pitted nails across the walls of my chest. I feel it banging. I’m not sure what it is.

Grief, maybe.

What happens if I let it out?

What happens if I allow all of this to penetrate my heart? To navigate the moat, to dynamite the fortress walls, to kill the guards, to smash the temple, to burn the market, to break open the levees and let this aching flood of emotion pour forth; let this creature shatter me into pieces so small they’ll never be able to reassemble the same way, ever, ever again? What happens?

Perhaps it’s time I find out. Perhaps it’s time to lay down the quest. The mumbo jumbo. The hocus pocus. The need. Oh god the need. The aching, burning, yearning, churning need. The desperation. The anguish.

“I don’t want to feel this anymore,” I say through gobs of tears, through helium-pitched wails. “I don’t want to feel this.”  And so it stays in place, bubbling, but never boiling over, never exploding out of the pot like maybe it ought to. Because I don’t want to feel it. I won’t allow it. It’s too much.

But maybe… just maybe… it’s the only way to grow. Maybe the Universe hears me and says, “Well let me just keep giving you more of the same until you do feel it. Until you do let it break you open. Then maybe you’ll step off the grief wheel and really start to love yourself.”

I felt something today. I felt it rising in my diaphragm, stretching its legs, walking around the hearth of my gut, tickling my viscera, squishing my noggin in a nutcracker. I felt something. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe the best thing I can do for myself is to keep feeling this something. Keep feeling it until it packs its bags, puts on a teal green visor and a fancy money belt, and catches the next plane to Anywhere But Here.

The hawk dropped an encoded message on the roof. It tumbled over the wood shingles, it clanged on the gutter, it landed in the wet grass with a thud that sounded an awful lot like a lightbulb flashing. I went over, picked it up, and swallowed it. Not sure what came over me. It didn’t even taste good, rather lemony in fact. But now here I am.

And something’s trying to get out. And I think… I think… I think I’m going to let it happen.


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