one aches in absolute abandonment
long before net of season strips rivers
lakes ponds of harmonies
each dear and downed deep melody
meandering in mist of just July
and nearly August or suddenly September
trying to imprint sheets of music
upon fading blues of sky
before stroking away like some ship
destined to break dock on amniotic ocean
never to return exactly the same
but return nonetheless
some strange need suctioned her so swiftly
that even a stir was barely noticeable
her haunting held as sighs and aborted surges
warning that fall was coming and she longed to leave
her sadness's darkly scrambled
to break free of cold and darkened lake
refusing to reflect her rigorous flailing
as she was folded and pulled by some hard hand
into a sky that hardly deserved her
we longed for sounds of grace
touching stone to make it weep
but weeping was not its nature
even as she scrambled on water to rise
she was envied her ability
to arch her neck and draw blue sky
singing freedom as she spread
her pinioned wings that had patiently
practiced being a phoenix
once more one more damned time
lake and shore mourn her leavings
great dark mouth agape for months
praying for Spring to have her hover
then half-swallowing her as she nestled
in weary weeds who had waited
for ripple of her return
aware she would she should she could
if only we would wait belly blue as promised
our hope circling like left feathers
soddenly etching a map in eddies
so she can find her way home
again
©Carol Desjarlais 9.05.22
I love rainy days. I love the fore-telling of rain. I love the smell, the sound, the feel, and the comforting-effect of being bundled up in gray clouds. It is not the same for everyone.
For some, with a parent with depression, the sky turns gray and they do. A troubled past (trauma) can project itself when skies are gray. Grief, we have not dealt with, can erode to a sense of loneliness or emptiness. Doing to much, for too many, can lead to a sense of being overwhelmed and, beware, a gloomy day should come at the same time.
For some, we get to a place where we just are not interested (or feel interesting). We are lethargic. We feel foggy in that we just cannot think clearly. We may not want to go anywhere or see anyone. You feel irritated, or angry, for no apparent reason, and it can be soul deep irritation. Some may not be able to sleep, or want to oversleep. You just do not have the energy to do anything, nor desire anything.
No sense having anyone to just get over it. When someone tries to help, their help only compounds things. We do not choose to feel so rotten. Oh, we know what to be grateful for. No sense telling us to remember things we are grateful for. In fact, for people to point things out, only makes it worse. A depressed person will only feel guilty and, yes, of course, worse. Sometimes the negative outweighs the positive. It may be our whole inner dialogue outweighs anyone else’s ‘sage’ advice. There seems to be a switch within that has to be reset. What, then can we do to help others?
How about taking a load off by helping them do the things they just cannot seem to do? How about reminding them that a depressed person is a condition, not the real them? How about telling them that they are not weak or flawed? How about encouraging them to come and do something, they usually enjoy, with you? How about telling them you admire them, that they are loved, that they are valuable, that they are perfect in the Creator’s eyes? Then talk the depressed person into seeking real help and then…and THEN, walk the journey with them, to healing.
I know whereof I speak. For many decades ago, I needed someone who could/would/should have done the above things. I never thought I would live this long. IU am grateful I did because so many wonderful things have come my way once I flipped my switch.
As for you who help: God Bless You. There is hope. Please do not give up on those who cannot seem to get out from their own dark cloud.
©Carol Desjarlais 06.29.26
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