my living story

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my dad is dead. he killed himself. i found him.

i am living in the pages of this story. i am living, which looks like bumbling, fumbling, and bouldering through life. it means my heart ruptures, over and over, to pour out the tears of my unravelling. i pour out my tears in the truck, into kleenex, into my shirt sleeves. i pour out my tears at the grocery store, at the coffee shop, in line at costco. i pour my tears, over and over and over again.

i pour my tears in front of friends, children, strangers, colleagues, bosses, lovers, family, and in the quite solitude of my darkened room. as i pour out of my unravelling, space is made for the light to enter. i crack, shatter, am forever altered. in these places where my heart ruptures and my ego is annihilated, i lay bare to the inescapable beauty and pain of the whole, the roundedness in life.

death is an unchangeable part of life. it is the roundedness in our dimensional life. over and over again we are faced with death. it is shaped around us in the seasons, in the break of relationship, in the loss of an uncle, a babcha, of our dad, in the hiring and firing, in the stop-starts, in the nevermind’s, in the goodbye’s, in the abandonments, in the goodnight’s and good morning’s, in the doing of the dishes after a meal, and in an empty, abandoned tea cup.

i have my own unique experience with death. i learn death is an incredible teacher. i figure living past death means that: living. i get to choose if i shrivel up and stop experiencing life, or i get to choose living life fully.

the edges, the bitches that they are, of my grief and mourning take me through many dark places. places and spaces and faces no longer recognizable as my understanding in this new underworld, my new reality, is shifted, altered. it’s inevitable that my tears fall and fall and fall and return once more to the bosom of the salty ocean. the great gifts then of moving through my grief and mourning are the beauty and magnificence i get to see, feel, and know in my waking life moving forward.

it’s the feel of a wasp suckling the tips of my fingers for any trace of sweetness there.
it’s the brush strokes of the warm wind against the hairs on my forearms.
it’s the chirp of hundreds of crickets outside the windows morning, noon, and night.
and too, the moment when one evening they have vanished completely.

it’s the way that beautiful blonde babe twinkles, sparkles and shines her blue eyes at me as she runs from her parents at the café.
it’s the flight of wings against the air.
it’s the smell, no the taste, of the salt water air that has dried on my lips.

it’s the gift of watching the leaves turn from glorious green to yawning yellow as they float seamlessly to their own fated death.
it’s the sound of laughter that reverberates off the windows, angled directly at my face.

it’s the way i can experience the world around me and see, know, and feel the beauty and pain in such greater awareness. that i may have a fuller experience of life having lived through much, much, much more than my ‘fair share’ of its fucking shit buffet.

i personally know that life post-death becomes a fucking shit show for a while, for a long while if i’m being honest, though it also gets plain as day. the things that matter in life are clear. they are crystallized. choosing, making choice and decision in life, is also simplified.

it’s simple really: do that which brings you closer to love.

i didn’t say it is easy, i said it is simple. do that which brings you closer to love.

this still yet requires a few things of me. it requires…

🤍 my courage
🤍 my determination
🤍 my action
🤍 and above all ~ my heart.

it’s an inspired ideal to reach for. efforts towards it can be thwarted at every moment.

on my journey through multitudes of loss and love, i continue to learn what love is, what it means, how it shows up in my life. most importantly, i learn what it means to love myself: what it means to show up in my big bold brilliance; what it means to stand for myself in every moment; what it means to talk lovingly to myself; what it means to treat myself with loving kindness; what it means to wake in the morning excited for the surprises the sunrise promises; what it means to reach higher; what it means to be me.

i continue to be reminded what it means to move closer to love. part of that journey means accepting the impermanence of all things. the impermanence of my existence, of my personality, of my relationships, my meals, the seasons, the weather, my feelings, the impermanence of my possessions, my beliefs and my values.

we don’t get wise with luck. we get wise through a life lived. i know you’re plenty wise and i trust in you to move closer to love.

i love you,

xxo ~k 💜

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