Janu Sirsasana C -6/9/2023

That's cool.

Changing alignment on a page

From right to left instead of left to right

as I type-

God.

It's exactly how I feel.

I think, however, this is being read,

(the very first step,

or crawl, rather,

way before performance-

If it even comes to that,

performed where? Grief conventions?)

So you can't see it,

my chosen alignment on the page;

just like my Grief, this great bleeding wound in my gut,

you can't see it.

You might notice the effects of it.

Some new wrinkles, unkempt, thinning hair,

well, I did a box dye,

it’s supposed to be Chestnut brown, hints of copper-

but like all boxed hair dye -

it came out dark and purple-

and

I'm happy with it.

Like a widow's black armband. Which have gone out of favor!

Boy, are they needed.

Yellowing teeth?

Though I rarely smile with teeth exposed, so

You wouldn't notice them- I rarely smile at all anymore

Teeth stained with coffee.

I drink lots of coffee now.

I find I can fall asleep no problem.

I drank a cup at 7 pm last night! 7 pm!

And was out cold at 11:30!

All to say:

Take it from me

I’ve aligned my text on the right side, not on the left.

To show how different,

My world is

DIFFERENT.

I keep going to Yoga.

I keep- mildly, mildly mind you -

Progressing.

I was able to put myself into something called Janu Sirasana C -

yes, there is an A, B, and a C.

There's probably a D -

where you pop your shoulder out of your socket and replace it with your knee.

At any rate.

Since Andrew died,

I've gotten more flexible!

Makes sense,

I can stretch and twist beyond my previous physical capability.

Admittedly, not "in a good way";

It's just-

I don't feel things as I did.

Perhaps I am not entirely in my body;

A masseuse told me that:

“You’re not present below your midsection”.

Oh.

Thank you. Wasn’t aware.

Not sure what to do with that information?

But - it does explain things.

My tolerance for physical pain has increased-

I've been extended beyond my limit, I suppose,

And the happy result:

Janu Sirsasana C.

"Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."

But-

Is it?

Better?

That's our problem in a nutshell, isn't it?

Why we all don’t get along?

We are severely limited -

prejudiced-

by our own experience.

If you've never loved, you'd never know.

If it was better than never loving.

There's nothing in your lived experience to compare it to.

Someone said to me today:

Ok, she was selling books on the street,

And I happened to mention my husband died; that that is why I had all these books to donate/sell/quantify their worth to someone else;

(and surprise, surprise their worth is ZILCHO to anyone else,

they meant something to Andrew and I,

first book on directing he'd ever bought at age 20,

but hardly worth re-reading-

I'm sure there are many other better directing books now;

they mean something because they sat on our bookshelf

- not well-thumbed -

Simply sat next to him as he worked on his computer,

On our old Pier 1 armchair we'd bought fifteen, twenty years ago,

Off the side of the Riverhead exit from 495-

scuffed with our dog’s scratchings, our child's;

I’ve spilled an entire cup of coffee on it more than once;

at any rate, I'm not able to get rid of the armchair, just the old directing books that sat on a shelf next to it.)

The bookseller said:

"You know what's helped me with grief?

I lost someone"

(Here she equivocates -

lost who exactly?

I suspect not her partner, her support,

her earth that she moves out daily from like a spaceship in orbit,

that she may return to and land upon after flight,

her touchstone.)

And next, she puts her hand on her heart,

The gesture attempting to prove she's qualified to give me such intimate advice;

I half expect it to be brilliant!

If anything this unknown dark planet I'm on

(Ok, I’m abusing the spaceship-to-earth metaphor, apologies,)

This land of stunning loss has put me in such great need

of instructions,

of some map?

I'm cracked wide open,

available to all heretofore unlikely sources of wisdom.

She smiles and says,

“It helps me to remember all the happy memories, not just the loss.”

Oh, God.

Not another one.

Breath.

Get quiet.

Perhaps I should've stayed quiet?

Ah, well.

Rather, I say:

“Well, that's a bit-”

She jumps in quick:

"Dismissive? Didn’t mean to be, so sorry."

I ignore her plea to end the exchange,

she just wants to sell her books Mary, move on!

Instead, I get more specific:

“No, it's a little, reductive, frankly.

A bit of an underestimation,”

I explain,

“Losing Andrew

has been like losing the nose on my face.

I don't talk about the memory of my nose,

my nose isn't a boxed up happy memory-

I used it every minute, every second-

It's my nose!

You wouldn't say:

'I take comfort in all the happy memories I had

of my face with a nose on it.'

Suddenly, I realize:

This nose metaphor really works for me!

I think it’s pretty,

pre-tty

pre-tty

GOOD.

It's EXACTLY how I feel!!

However.

She. Does. Not. Follow.

Why am I talking about noses and grief???

Afterward,

She makes me pay full price for a used book of poems,

"The Gift" by Hafiz.

Even though she’d just heard that my husband had died recently,

Seen me stumbling about, ranting about noses to strangers,

On the street,

At noon, no less!

Look, if it were me?

And she’d told me her husband had just died

And she’d choked as she told me?

I'd've just given her the book of Hafiz poems-

Especially if it was called

The Gift!

Right?

I’d be too aware of the KARMA I'd bring down upon my head

if I didn't!

But then I think-

Is this why I’d bothered to tell her?

That Andrew’s death is not a matter of happy memories,

but more like losing my center of gravity,

that I'm all unbalanced now?

You try walking around without your nose guiding you -

or worse-

Try walking around with the gaping hole

of where your nose once was, open, raw, sore,

only no one can see it.

Maybe I just told her to get the book for free?

Maybe?

Ah, well...

Even still!

I'd’ve just given The Gift.

Jesus.

People are so hobbled by the marketplace.

But, I think,

small comfort.

Maybe here’s her karma:

I’ll bet she never gets into Janu Sirsasana C.