bH.ere Even Still

Little feels publication worthy lately.

Here I am. Even still.

The waves are moving all around me and pass through, but time stands still in my mind—or rewinds the past in words and images that make me avoid the mirror, grimace, or sit in the dark and stare at a dying candle.

Sometimes I feel like writing is the opposite of meditation.

Like my life should become this Zen Den where I barely speak.

Oddly enough… it’s possible that I’m almost there.

I smile, yet barely speak to anyone most days.

Think, though, that I do.

I think, “If only I had his pride, I’d stay quiet. Perhaps never write or say another word about the past or share another weird or sad story.”

Then I think, “Is that really who I want to be?”

“Perfect… Does that even exist?”

It’s an endless circle of thoughts that truly make no sense to keep following.

Mindfulness, man…

I don’t know if there is ever a time when thought disappears completely.

Definitely still feels more like Mind-full of a Loch Ness monster.

The grief keeps coming in waves.

It sits on my chest.

I exercise.

I try not to let it stay too long.

There are all kinds of theories about how long it takes to move through the grief of an ending. Some say it takes half the length of the relationship.

I wonder when that grief time clock started ticking in me.

• ●

Still: Loneliness prevails.

• ●

Dating feels like walking into a closed glass door on repeat.

I think, “Stephanie, stop doing that!”

And then the view from the other side—and the body’s need to be hugged—scream louder than the fear.

For a few days, or a few dates, there is a little excitement. A little adventure.

Excitement is also depleting.

So are the interviews required to allow anyone a few steps through my door.

• ●

Tonight, I did a session of laughing yoga.

I recorded it on video. I was curious if what I said aloud might be laugh worthy.

It was not that.

Instead, it was nearly an hour of mostly tearful stories about:

– Today’s pregnancy test.

– My vivid dream and the accompanying emotions last night about losing my cat, Max.

– My last marriage and the many reasons I left.

– The upcoming doctor’s visits that I already know I can’t afford. Visits to determine why I keep getting sharp pains in my pelvis.

I have an idea about what is coming.

And still—

I showed up.

I breathed.

I laughed.

Or tried to.

Maybe that counts for something.

Maybe this is what being here looks like.

Even still.

*

A Zen Den

filled

with

too

many

singing

bowls

of ice

cream