Love and Strife

It's not my fault--it's not my fault.

That was what they all told me, as I released her to the planet.

But somehow, wasn't I responsible? In some way, I played a small part. I know it. I know it in my heart.

I knew that look, just as his sword glided through her flower of a body. The look on her face was unmistakable--a look I had longed for her to give me, deeply, without even knowing so until the moment of her death. Pure love.

Everything within her was pure. Her resolve, her deep connection to the planet, her deep commitment to all that is just. But her love was the most pure. And not simply the love she held for me--it would be a blemish upon her memory for me to believe so. Still, her love for me was special. It was sweet and innocent and... and... trusting. I have come to treasure that love in my soul, in the days since her death. It is one tiny grain of purity within me.

But therein lies my blame. Had she not loved me so deeply, so purely, then she would not have died for me. That's right--she died for me, along with everything else that she gave her life for. Had our relationship been different--cordial, distant--it would not have saved her life. It simply would have released me from the sphere of responsibility... To ache. To grieve. And to continue on.

It sears like lightning in my heart. Every thought of her brings pain; every memory causes me disdain at my own weakness in which I was helpless to protect her from his twisted anger. But it brings resolve as well, and more than ever. My resolve on its own is feeble... But resolve bound to her love, which she perished to prove, that is a force altogether unstoppable. From that small bit of purity which she has shed for me, I draw a strength I have never known before.

She did not fail in her purpose, though death railed through her body. I watched her being absorbed by the planet, all her youth and tenderness streaming away. But she's still here, stronger than before. She's all around me, every moment. She floods my heart. And it's left to me to see that the calling of her life is fulfilled. Could I let her death become a vain sacrifice? I could not bear it.

My strength was a joke, and still I leaned upon it. In my strength I nearly saw my own ruin. But she died to give me a greater strength--a strength to find myself buried within the lies in my soul. A strength to love. And a strength to finish what she had the courage to begin.

This responsibility is mine, but I will never bear it alone. Even now, she is here. Even now, she gives me the strength to fight further.

To Love a Willow

For sturdier affections
some cage their hearts--
for limbs that are thicker,
to sand that's not so quick

for fear of a whim,
a pain, a tear
when sadness scars
like thin-skinned grapes
burst with new hurt.

The weepy, wispy willow cries
each time the reckless wind sighs
and the daytime is too hard on the eyes.

A risk, a chance...

Some are willing
to love a willow.
Others... are hollow.

Happier days

Tonight was a great night for running. The thunderstorms scattered just long enough, the sun broke the clouds apart so mildly, and the humidity waned and cooled so refreshingly that there was no way that I could not run this evening. Even the hills did not daunt me.

The neighborhood I am staying in this summer is a fairly old development, and the sidewalks are periodically mounded up by victorious tree-roots pressing through. The houses do not swallow the surrounding ecosystem; people have made their mark here, but it is not a destructive, desecrating one. Merely seven miles from downtown Atlanta, such harmony can exist. At times like this, as I was running tonight and ducking beneath limbs and breathing air that smelled fresh at least, I am encouraged that the planet has a fighting chance.

Bob and I have found an activity to be engaged in together this summer, even though we're apart. We're writing a story together. "Writing" is a bit of a misnomer, because we're still early in the planning phases and have not actually written any of the story's text yet. We have been profiling the characters and working out the kinks of the plot. It's actually an idea he had that we've been stewing over for awhile, and now we're both getting excited about it. We have been chatting online about it, often in character to get a sense of their voices; and while such a medium is far from an intimate way to spend time with one's spouse, we have found that it actually works really well for this purpose because we can record a transcript of all that's been said, which we can build on later. And being excited about the story helps to soothe the pain of being apart so much.

We're actually not separated as much as we could be. We had a wonderful weekend together, and Bob has promised to come visit me in Atlanta once or twice a week. It's just difficult to spend days at a time apart when I have grown to love his presence so much. But as he keeps telling me, and as I well know, in times like this I have to turn to God and allow Him to comfort me when my husband is not there. And I have to rely on His strength to carry me every day. When Bob and I got married, one of the scriptures we had read at our wedding was Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, which talks about the goodness of being bound to another person. The last phrase of that passage is, A cord of three strands is not quickly broken. Bob and I are each a strand, but the third strand in our cord is the Lord. And as long as we stay bound faithfully to each other and to Him, then I believe He will bring us through every trial we face. And at the end of this summer, our marriage will be stronger because we will have learned to rely on God first.

So my life has gotten more and more bearable over the past week, as I've become more comfortable with my job and grown stronger about being away from Bob. Tomorrow Bob is coming to town, and we will be cooking a yummy-looking baked salmon dish for the family. More to come on that!

Not what I had in mind...

I've been so busy and tired with work and getting adjusted to new surroundings that I have been unable to get my creative juice flowing. So far the summer has been... well, rough in many ways. My husband had to move to ANOTHER CITY to find a job, and I've been living in Atlanta with his aunt and uncle and young, young cousins. And work has been a little on the stressful side. It's hard to be a newbie, and especially when I know that everyone else around me at least has a college degree. And at the same time, I have not found my current tasks to be entirely challenging or stimulating. But after next week it's on to better things.

I just hope I can shake the nervous feeling I'm constantly having. I feel sick in the mornings, nauseous and dizzy, and then in the afternoons I feel shaky. I have a sinking feeling that no one in the office likes me, even though I'm trying so hard. It's probably just silly paranoia; still, I can't help but think that I've screwed up somehow already.

I've enjoyed cooking when I have the time. My husband and I recently discovered that we can go to Whole Foods and get frozen edamame for nearly half what we've paid for it elsewhere, so I see myself experimenting with that as much as possible. It's been interesting living with non-vegetarians--we're constantly having to explain things to them. On top of that, Bob's aunt is a celiac and cannot eat gluten. So I've been mulling over some vegetarian, wheat-free ideas. I'm sure I'll be back with more on that later.