It’s getting harder and harder to think in a linear way, to think logically, to think beyond this experience. I’ve been advised to write, but how can I write when I can’t think? How can I try to make sense of thoughts that are following the body? Not just the body that has passed through and on, but the body that is still here, recovering slowly, dripping at the edges with wasted nutrition, now only absorbed by starry hemp pads. How can I allow words to be written down and follow the body down the rabbit hole, where sadness and grief reside? The body doesn’t know it. The body is oblivious. The body believes it has just given birth, whole and breathing, and now expects closeness of both bodies, closure of something that has been opened. The mind follows this body, my body, that follows the scent of his body, still residing on my body. The seams are popping at the edges, craving touch, wanting to hold what is no longer here, he with bright red lips and feet too big for his body. The thoughts are confused, riding the roller coaster of emotions that come and go, and come again unexpected, like waves, like tsunamis, of tears, of sweat, of breast milk. They don’t understand; reason cannot back them up. There is nothing. There is only a void that gets filled with visions no more exciting, not sufficient to keep the mind alert and active. The drive for life has died along with him – my little hummingbird.
The uterus is closing, the pores are drying up, the body is slowly healing and shrinking to fulfill the space once occupied, to bring the space back to its original state, before the seed was planted. The only miracle remaining open is the heart where emotions go and dwell. This space of love painfully expands, stretches to dimensions not yet comprehended. It beats, steadily, and in that beat, echoes and sounds reverberate that used to represent Life itself, growing and becoming. Now that Life has passed on to a place that the mind with its thoughts cannot perceive as real, cannot digest as food, cannot rationalize within this body. The body is human, it knows only of what it’s been programmed to understand. There is a glitch in the system that seemed so perfect, that has kept me in awe over the past seven months. It is a virus, contaminating thoughts which have no mind of their own, which follow the naivety of the body. How can I think when all appears irrational? How can I free my thoughts from the grips of error, in life, in the system, in the body? How can I write?