I Am Always Alone
Hades came to me in a dream last night. He apologized for hurting me. I told him that I accepted his apology. Why are men so nice to you when you’re far away?
One of the things that is truly confusing is that when I’m up above, I’m no longer pregnant.
From a logical standpoint, it makes sense. The baby that I carry down below had its fate determined already. For whatever reason, “it” was determined that the baby would not have an earthly existence. And so, when I come up above, the baby is a pure figment of my imagination—we could call it Figment—whereas down below, the baby truly exists.
Maybe that’s why I’m particularly lonely on this trip up above. When I carry my little one, I’m never alone. Whereas, now, here, up above, I have to confront that I am alone. Sometimes I relish—I treasure being alone—but other times it hurts. It hurts so much that I want to die—a pain that transcends all of the hurt that depression can bring.
IS THIS MY DESTINY?
Maybe this is all part of my destiny—MY fate—that I perpetually must feel desire. When I am up above, I miss my baby, and I miss Hades. When I’m down below, I occasionally miss the sunlight and I feel the separation that my mother Demeter feels.
And so, I am always alone, for better or worse, always missing something and therefore always existing in a perpetual state of desire.
And then, because I feel desire and people—when they are with me—sense that desire, they open up to me—and my desire becomes their desire.
Maybe this is all part of my destiny—MY fate—that I perpetually must feel desire. When I am up above, I miss my baby, and I miss Hades. When I’m down below, I occasionally miss the sunlight and I feel the separation that my mother Demeter feels.
And so, I am always alone, for better or worse, always missing something and therefore always existing in a perpetual state of desire.
And then, because I feel desire and people—when they are with me—sense that desire, they open up to me—and my desire becomes their desire.
One of the things that is truly confusing is that when I’m up above, I’m no longer pregnant.
From a logical standpoint, it makes sense. The baby that I carry down below had its fate determined already. For whatever reason, “it” was determined that the baby would not have an earthly existence. And so, when I come up above, the baby is a pure figment of my imagination—we could call it Figment—whereas down below, the baby truly exists.
Maybe that’s why I’m particularly lonely on this trip up above. When I carry my little one, I’m never alone. Whereas, now, here, up above, I have to confront that I am alone. Sometimes I relish—I treasure being alone—but other times it hurts. It hurts so much that I want to die—a pain that transcends all of the hurt that depression can bring.
IS THIS MY DESTINY?
Maybe this is all part of my destiny—MY fate—that I perpetually must feel desire. When I am up above, I miss my baby, and I miss Hades. When I’m down below, I occasionally miss the sunlight and I feel the separation that my mother Demeter feels.
And so, I am always alone, for better or worse, always missing something and therefore always existing in a perpetual state of desire.
And then, because I feel desire and people—when they are with me—sense that desire, they open up to me—and my desire becomes their desire.
Maybe this is all part of my destiny—MY fate—that I perpetually must feel desire. When I am up above, I miss my baby, and I miss Hades. When I’m down below, I occasionally miss the sunlight and I feel the separation that my mother Demeter feels.
And so, I am always alone, for better or worse, always missing something and therefore always existing in a perpetual state of desire.
And then, because I feel desire and people—when they are with me—sense that desire, they open up to me—and my desire becomes their desire.
posted by Marie H at 7:52 PM
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