Desolate
It is summer, and I, like my namesake, should be bursting forth. But today, I travelled for 45 minutes to return a pair of sunglasses to a friend; then I read something Albert Murray wrote about the Blues tradition; then I spoke for an hour with another friend who is sad; then I went home and laid, fetal-like position on my bed, and cried for two hours.
The fetal position helps. It induces sleep which helps numb some of the pain.
An old man who once claimed to be my friend — my elder really, who I knew in my twenties — emailed me and told me I’d betrayed his people by writing what I did about Sam Harris, and at first I wished him well, which I do mean, but it was sort of spiritual bypassy so I course corrected and told him he was selfish and mean since he had only responded to my piece on Harris because it concerned him but never once did he respond to any of my other essays chronicling the sorrow and rage that has brought me to my knees.
He half apologized, sort of, and that was that. His generation will die soon, and still most of them have not made their peace with the piercing pain that blinds them to others who suffer. I’m trying to make my own. No guarantees.
How’s your summer? Dont tell me you’re sorry.
Send me sad songs I can play on my guitar, vessels that can help me carry my suffering.
It is intimate to speak to each other in these spaces.
We read your inner world.
We love your humanity. We love our humanity.
I left the city behind. Learned to grow a garden. Learned to love being with myself.
I remember living in the city. It cultivated the intellect, but left our hands out.
Now, over 30 years later, I have learned to build my own house. My hands now have meaning.
From another human, from a soul on earth, I offer you the invitation to investigate Earthbound Building and the work they are doing in the world, in Maryland. Their mission is to provide a space for Black and Brown, women, queer and trans folk to gain exposure and training in the building trades and traditional crafts...https://www.instagram.com/craftwellpplschool/ and https://earthboundbuilding.com
Blessings
February 7th, 2021
She’s been gone for two years now—
my daughter.
Listening to Keith Jarrett’s Koln Concert and it hits me—
what living with this
grief is like: I have to play a
broken piano
that also needs
a tune.
I could walk away
or stay
and use the keys I have left
to make something
Beautiful.