why not i but my body is here

August 14, 2012

I’m walking out of my bedroom when I stop mid step as I feel it vibrate deep inside. The waves are tight and sharp though somewhat weak, sounding a calming alarm at a low frequency. It has has come, as it always comes, time steadily marching along.

There is no fanfare. No wild parades, no tickertape, no screaming and crying and gnashing of teeth. There has been nothing to remind me this day would come except my own vague memories that the time will come. I do the math. Three days early. Close enough.

I always know but then how could I not. It’s something greater than me. It is the turn of the tides and the gravitational pull. It is my body as part of the axis of innocence, and Original Sin remade in the name of God, pure and innocent. It is the Universe inside of me, all life and all death and I am but one drop in the ocean that rises and falls. It is give and take, the flow of life. For a minute I was in purrfect sync, my body divesting on the new moon so that come the full moon I would be all kindsa (miao) (scratch) (rowwwr).

But I am in New York and there is so much here that pulls me away from the natural order of things. I’m on the quarter moon and I can see it at night and maybe that’s why this time was soo niice. Nothing. No symptoms, not even the swell of my breast that reminds me of so much overripe fruit this time of year. Of peaches that burst with the scent of heaven on your tongue. Of mangoes so sweet and wet that melt in your mouth. Of the delectable delicacies that are seasonal. That (those) have been and are my clock. I’d use that extra oomph as my reminder to keep watch.

But not this time around. Nothaaannn. No swells, no curves in overdrive. No feeling of holding back the tides. No theater, no drama, no stage presence. No scenes, no monologues, no creature discomforts. No change of costume, no crazy appetite, no need to feed insatiably. No exhaustion. No wearing away of my frayed nerves. Nothing. No warning until the gong sounds.

When it hits, and it always hits with a gentle tap, it stops me mid step as I measure the seismic waves. I wonder if it will tear through my body and tear me apart and send me to bed doubled over in the agony of what is… the ritual of life unconceived. Of my failure to Nature, the great Goddess herself.

But no. The pain, such as it could be called pain, rumbles aimlessly and a walk down my block dissipates it entirely. And as I walk along, feeling my body lose hope and forsake its dreams and its needs, I think without thought. It is not words. It is just. Every month. Every month. It vibrates in my head. It’s not quite death. But it’s not quite not.

It is no wonder cosmic forces pull me this way and that, for how should it be that I have to dance with death every single month. That this month, I should be so lucky as to flow with the waves instead of being overtaken by them, that I should not have anything unresolved in my heart that causes conflict and strife and wages war on the world.

That I should not be so toxic as to have my body press charges against me, waging its own battle as if to say, You know this happens. Why do you destroy me with unfood.

That I should not be so imbalanced as to take to my bed in exhaustion from being drained, being bled, literally, my very center is emptying itself of possibility. Of me, me leaving, me no more. That I should not be sick and tired of being sick and tired. That, yes, today is different from yesterday but nothing more.

I think how strange it is that every day of every month should be a cocktail of body chemistry all about this. All about whether life is or is not and if I will be a part of it.

I think of how strange it is that the closer I come to the end of this path, the more intoxicating it becomes, that which I shall never have. How it is not something I would like and not something that is meant to be but it becomes this feeling of understanding of why not I but my body is here.

4 Responses to “why not i but my body is here”

  1. Reblogged this on livingartmj and commented:

  2. Fair fire burns the rubbish – what can’t be saved is not saved.
    One can be injured and destroyed only by the arson fire.
    Prudent fire rescues hot prolific sparkles to be convoyed
    by the wind to some other consecrated and secure latitude.
    Again and again it lingers, you linger in me as me suppose in you…

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