You are reborn when God floods you

Amazing words borrowed from my dear friend Blondee, for all those who lost someone…

***

God floods you, fucking gopher, out of your tunnel, and you run, through plough and fields, carrying your matted fur – yes, you flooded me my God.

I’m ticking half-asleep, I’m not awake, still this fear again, and this damn rhyme, can’t resist it. It’s love that I’m afraid of, or maybe not, just that look, pain is glowing, I know this, as if I was looking to a mirror. Grass of the summer road on the bottom of a clear, icy lake… water strokes the spears… fishes swim through the meadow… then all of a sudden the glacier dies and the field gets dry again – for a summer.

Shit, I got a shock, not normal, neither bad, nor good, it’s just like this, I’m just afraid. Even my memory, that faithless bitch betrays me all the time. I’m alone.

It was morning, not early, only for those who go to bed at dawn, the phone – the sneak, the tool of “are you coming for lunch on Sunday”, and “where are you, when are you coming”, nothing but a piece of plastic plus a little metal, betrays you (as if your fridge would shoot you) – rings.

You don’t know yet, how would you know, you pick it up, me that is, my sister’s voice from a different world: Dad died.

But… I was a good girl, want to hide back, underneath some earth duvet, until the skies clear up, until the stream dies away, but there is no place to, and I cannot, just like in the childhood nightmare, I’m naked, we all are, in front of each other. There is no “but”, “sorry I’m busy”, “later”, there are no tears, and what would you cry for anyway. What would I… We… We just are. We ARE. And he is not.

Damn fucking phone, the sanctified bitch. It doesn’t sound feminine after all. Phone. It’s neutral, or rather masculine. So let’s go. I haven’t seen dead before. My father, dead, naked, dress him up. Have to.

Years later I say, not to blame, just to declare my disappointment:

- You didn’t come with me, you got sick, you were gray and sweaty; I had to bring you back to town and go alone.

- Is this why you wanted to get divorced?

- No, I’m just saying, I’ve been disappointed.

- I’ve been there, with you. I got sick, we went to the doctor, I got meds, and I went with you. I was there when they took your father from the living room to the bier.

Funny. Think I’m going insane. Or just my brain.

Why is it, that we think the things we are afraid of, the things we hate, feminine? Fucking bitch… And God, though we’ve never seen him, is male.

My sister, the prime-vegan, the prime-tigress, she took the fucking phone, to say it out loud again, to Daddy’s only dear little Son, to his Loli, the unchangeable. She dressed him up with mom and she closed his eyes. I only found it out years later. When I was strong enough to ask the question. And she, to answer it.

For when God floods you, he’s doing a great job. No escape, no hide away, no words, no tears, no you, no knowing, you are like the stiff frame, and another, and another, lo, this is you as well, like a silent film, clean slate you are, waiting for someone to turn a page. And they do. And then you feel, you suspect, who you are.

(Written by Dr. Blondee, 05/04/2007)

~ by ronika on July 13, 2009.