The Falcon Cannot Hear The Falconer
I pray you will forgive me my silence.
*
This week the Wild Woman of Borneo was recaptured after some months on the lam. She's behind bars and likely to remain there, cooling her heels, a good long time. I'm not going to go into details, out of deference to some kind of privacy, but she has generally been wreaking havoc on friend and foe alike, leaving a swath of destruction and terror not unlike a particularly malevolent tornado.
*
We are yet huddled in the wreckage, aghast at the sunlight pouring into the basement through what we had imagined to be the solid foundation of our lives.
And yet, and yet.
Maybe the tornado is the wrong metaphor. Maybe she's a dirty bomb, or something grander.
*
It seems everything must be burned.
*
I know these are but small troubles, and everywhere you look things are worse, and worse still.
I got no right to go on about it.
*
Yet I am sore put out.
*
I do not think that all things happen for a reason. I do not believe this is all meant to be.
I believe that some people bring evil into the world because it is what they want to see.
I do not think this is in any way a good thing.
*
I have, in point of fact, set my very life against it.
*
Is that my lesson here?
*
fuck if I know.
*
Namaste.
And may you be spared.
***
(ps- don't feel like you have to say anything. I know you love me. I do.)
*
posted by tearful dishwasher at 5:11 PM
19 Comments:
through The Wild Boy, i have peeked through the doorway of what a wildchild can do. not exactly the stuff we read in those parenting rags, while we're sitting in the OB/GYN waiting room, wondering still what it's going to be like...
Tiger Face
Because you can be what you’re not
for only so long,
one day the tiger cub raised by goats
wandered to the lake and saw himself.
It was astounding
to have a face like that, cat-handsome,
hornless, and we can imagine he stared
a long time, then sipped
and pivoted, bemused yet burdened now
with choice. The mother goat had nursed him.
The others had tolerated
his silly quickness and claws.
And because once you know who you are
you need not rush,
and good parents are a blessing
whoever they are, he went back to them,
rubbing up against
their bony shins, keeping his secret to himself.
But after a while the tiger who’d found
his true face
felt the disturbing hungers, those desires
to get low in the reeds, swish his tail,
charge.
Because he was a cat he disappeared
without goodbyes, his goat-parents relieved
such a thing was gone.
And we can imagine how, alone and beyond
choice, he wholly became who he was—
that zebra or gazelle
stirring the great blood rush and odd calm
as he discovered, while moving, what needed
to be done.
Stephen Dunn, from Loosestrife
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I didn't know what else to write. It's my favorite poem. I love you.
Rebecca
These are the darkest of times. Small solace that is a cell but nonetheless, a known place. Each in our separate//shared griefs. The goal is love, in spite/despite whatever it is that barricades the way. xo
These are not small troubles. Fuck no.
Yes. We love you and that Woman.
We somehow even love that Wild Woman. We can't help it. We do not give up hope.
"I know these are but small troubles, and everywhere you look things are worse, and worse still."
How about: "It could have been better?"
It's something I tell myself when I think "it could have been worse."
I'm sorry -- love and peace to you and all of yours --
damnit i am sorry. i am really fucking sorry. have a stiff drink, my friend. the center can hold.
A year of so ago I would have seen this and immediately gone on at length about the benefits of Al-anon, however I remember something someone once told me never to miss an opportunity to keep my goddamn mouth shut. Instead I'd like to express how deeply, deeply jealous I am of your new camper-trailer.
Ouch.
Sorry she is where she is, and yet at least you know where she is and that she is safe. If there is any spot of relief in that, take it.
Sending soothing wishes to all of you.
Peace,
pf
That image. The twirling cloud and the twirling child, inviting optimism, except the child might be sightless and the stately cloud is from a detonation of some sort and then there's that crack running from top to bottom in its own dimension, warning us not to hope too much. I clicked and made this large as I always do with your art, and really this one feels aching and sad to me. Beautifully rendered and sad.
I do love you. And I am sorry for the aching and the sad. But I am relieved she is found and for the moment contained. I hope that is okay.
Your post made me think of the Chinese proverb: Now that the barn has burned, we can see the stars.
Holding you, all three.
Oh my god. Sorry but I have to leave my small blessing here too, for you and yours, no burden that needs to be carried or repaid.
The poem Rebecca posted, and Angella's Chinese proverb.
Fierce and luminous, the fire that burns from you and - I have no idea. She's safe now I hope.
love, Deirdre
you are right, to try to find words with which to respond is pretty impossible, but the urge to speak, to send... what? comfort? (as if) is unstoppable. Imagine, please, that I am sending whatever it is you need. At least in wishes.
Then love it is. For you, as much as you can use.
beaming care and a measure of serenity, sooner rather than later, please -- for all of you.
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I hear you, dear Tearful . . .
Everything must be burned.
You know that.
You just don't own that yet.
And yes, she is something grander.
She just doesn't know that yet.
Let alone own it.
Sure, you know we all love you.
But do you know that we are holding you, too?
Can you feel that?
Because we are.
Holding you.
Burn everything.
Look for the moon.
Tell her she is something grander.
Even if she will not hear you.
Oh, and maybe you got that wrong up there. Not a dirty bomb. No, no.
A beautiful bomb.
Maybe she is destroying everything to reveal the beauty lying beneath.
Whenever I think of you and your beautiful bomb, I think of Pandora.
Remember, friend, that after all the blackness, after the storm surged out of the box, there was that small white winged thing that fluttered out.
I wish my father was alive. He'd tell you what you already know. Hell, my mother's still alive. She'd tell you, too. You have to keep on loving these wild animals that are your children, even when they bite and hiss and growl and claw at you.
Unconditional love ain't for sissies, brother. But it is quite possibly the best gift you will ever give her or anybody in your life.
i real love you guys.
i heard today that stalin sent a spaceship over area 51 in the 1940s just to try to convince the US that aliens existed. he did it to totally fuck with us. i have no idea how this relates, but i will probably figure it out later. then i'll let you know.
I keep coming back to this post, so full of feelings and thoughts, sure I commented already, and yet surprised I thought I could come up with something worthwhile to say in the first place.
This parenting gig has husked my soul. I pilfered that line from a book. It fits. I'm raw from wishing things to be better than they are for my offspring, and wondering what I might have done differently. It's scary to realize how little influence I have on them, in the end, so my wondering is probably futile. I am a powerless parent, as are we all.
So sorry for your troubles. They are not small. They could be worse, most things usually can. I am a genius at thinking up worse things that could happen to stave off despair with the bad that already is. You might yet save her from herself, and for that alone I would hold out hope.
Things rarely make sense or turn out as they should, do they? Some days I think we're all lucky to be here at all. Period.
I'm hoping things begin to make sense in your world. Life can rebuild itself after even the most painful storms or explosions, and with time, hopefully, your family will have more peace than pain.
Wishing you solace. Hope your intermission gives you what you need, and that you share your words and your heart with us again when you can.
Until then, thank you for the archives. And yes, you are loved. That woman of yours too. Hold tight.
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