Skip to main content

I belong to the light.

Dad: "Jay - The street light in front of you house just went off."

Jay(Me) - "Yeah, it's been doing that this week."

It was the week you passed away...and my first night alone at the house since. I was sitting outside, hesitant to go inside with my saddness and my guilt - my fear and my mourning, when I called him. I was still shook up. Still processing your departure in my head. Still shocked by finding your letter in my journal and at my instinct to paw through it...knowing you would have left something behind for me.

So, my dad came over to make sure I was okay.

As I saw him approaching, I put the key in the lock and stepped inside. And as he pulled in the streetlight darkened.

We visited for a while and I told him what I thought was the cause for the changing light. And when we finished talking and he stepped outside to leave again, he kind of chuckled as he shouted through the door to me.

"The streetlight just came back on."





The thing that has me thinking about this is...ever since that week I've noticed that my streetlight is the only one that stays lit 24 hours a day. As the others go off...you stay on...it stays on.

I pull in the driveway and into the light everyday...and I know I'm home - but not alone.

Comments

mo said…
This entry hit my heebie-geebie nerve. Last night I had a dream that I saw her in the house and was so freaked out by the experience that I had to go live with my mom until we moved to another house.

Funny how something can be understood as both comforting AND spooky.
Vitamin B-Lardo said…
Oh no. You can't leave. Now my heebie-geebie nerve has been hit.
Nick James said…
I want to know more about this, you know this stuff intrigues me.

Popular posts from this blog

The knowing.

You settled into my dream. Stared me from my sleep. And told me it was time for a birth.  I asked if I could stay by your side.  A tender “no” was pushed from your lips. I stood to leave while the others danced around me. Your fear and my rejection walked me out of that dream.
That morning, grief was born. It poured from my body for 7 straight days.
You ghosted my life with coffee, clowns, and diamonds - A knowing that slipped between us. Then a person of your making began to stain my thoughts. He received the words I couldn’t say to you. And we connected over the beauty and pain you left behind.
We both miss your song.

Impaired Judgement

I live a life of impaired judgement. That’s why the wildest flowers rush to bloom in my arms. And stories filled with truth boom inside my ears. Your stories. His. Hers. And, my stories.
I can’t sleep with all these rules. The air is too thin. I want to learn to thrive in the thick of it. And, melt magnificently in the heat of it.
Unravel and tangle into all new knots. Find a way to slip through the cracks and expand to create space. Experiment with a stance that is completely still and strong. Then, crawl desperately towards the feet of everything I am afraid of.
Thrash around. Kick up dirt. And, rise again covered in messy, beautiful life.

Wild in transition.

I planted a bunch of seeds in my office this winter to try to work through a period of transition that I was experiencing. I bought them lights, watered them, talked to them often, over nurtured them...tried. Now that the sun has been high in the sky and the season is right...they are all growing wildly.

Lesson learned. No matter how much you try, you can't force anything to blossom in the wrong season. Even yourself. You can plant the seeds. You can fill them with intention. But, until the time is right it's mostly about sowing hopes and waiting.

So, now I'll be thinking about the seeds I want to plant in my own life for the next season. What do I want to harvest when the time for growth has come to an end and it's time to store my energy up for the next natural transition?