Where for art thou?
Category Archives: Prose
It’s a large room with an understated tree and multi-colored lights surrounding the crown molding; a collection of hand-carved Santa’s that I’ve been given every year for as long as I can remember, seemingly spreading good cheer everywhere you look. The presents have all been opened and there’s a few stray pieces of wrapping paper still on the floor; an empty box with a sleeping Stella nestled inside in a little white ball. The lights are dim, “The Thing” splaying horror across the giant tv and the four of us sitting around watching, laughing and sharing stories. It’s the best Christmas I’ve had in years and although I’m past the point of sleepy, I don’t want it to end. My parents, my son, in a room filled with love. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
– jillterry 12.24.18
Out of nowhere came this urgent need to reconnect with him. It had been several years but took only minutes before his voice was in my ear and he was damning me for reaching out again. I’d found him in limbo, which wasn’t actually surprising, he’d already done his stint in India, studying with the masters, becoming a Yogi and whoring the knowledge he’d gained for himself in order to survive. Always just trying to survive.
He was back in the states on the west coast, ready to head east if I gave the word. He was tired and just wanted to lie down, wanted to lie down with me. But I hesitated, as I always did, and no matter how brief or split second my pause, that was always the deciding factor.
We relived each moment spent, every truth ever told, forgave all the pain caused by endless lies and selfish deceptions. It was cleansing. It was cathartic. It was the most honest we’d ever been.
We said goodbye and promised to stay connected, though time slipped away and we never really did. Only after I found myself lost, once more wandering blind in the black abyss, did I reach for him again, only this time he did not come. I searched and quickly found that a brain tumor had taken my sage to the other side, just six months after we said our final goodbye.
I slipped deeper into the pit where no light could penetrate, lingering in my pain with no will to move from that place; and I stayed there for three long agonizing years. Until one night he came to me in a dream.
The next morning I searched and quickly found a message that previously had not been received. A comment left on a post he’d written after reading my words.
There must be something
Worse than being alone
More painful than lonely
Something other than death
Though I’ve yet to find it –
“I’ve been searching too. Nothing of value. I thought it was karma but it’s really just life. You move me with this one. This is powerful, this is truth…dying’s not so bad. I’m not haunting, but I am knocking.”
Death had changed me, for what I believed to be forever, loss had snuffed out my light and I knew there was no coming back; accepted as my fate to simply exist for my remaining days; until he threw a rope into the well of angst and urged me to climb out.
That changed me more than death could ever do, for in that moment I was reminded what my pain had allowed me to forget; there is no death, only a shift of worlds and our connection is never truly lost; and if he could throw me a rope from the other side of life, I could sure as hell reach out and take back mine.
~ jillterry 7.1.18
I woke up to this glorious day, depression now under control, feeling good in as long as I can remember, and started thinking about something other than myself. All the shit going on in the world, bombings going on here, to detract attention from what’s going on over there, news they want us to believe true that is absolute lies and fabrication, people of all nationalities divided and conquering. It’s enough to make you want to puke; but where my thoughts turned today, as I drove over the expanse of water, smooth as glass, reflecting a perfect southern sky that makes you happy to be alive to witness, was to the darkest depths of the human soul.
I’ve seen a few posts here and there of late, the response and reaction of people horrified and unbelieving that this could be going on in their own towns and cities, and yet no real outcries to put a stop to the madness; and the worse sort of madness it indeed is.
I’m talking about the parents searching for lost children, infants, teens, young adults; gone missing without a trace; another face on a poster blowing in the breeze on a light pole somewhere that most people passing by don’t even bother to notice. I’m talking about those same lost children, infants, teens and young adults, stolen or sold, drugged and enslaved, tortured and raped, over and over to the highest or lowest bidder; anyone willing to pay.
I’m talking about the abhorrent, unconscionable crime of human trafficking and why the fuck it’s not the number one criminal priority in the world to stop!
We all have things we like to think of as “our cause,” displaying the bumper sticker labeling ourselves as proponents of; signing online petitions to save this species or that, but you don’t see much promoting the end of people stealing and selling people; not just for commercial sexual abuse, but physical forced labor, domestic slavery, fighters in armed conflicts, and yes, the removal and selling of human organs for transplant.
Human trafficking is the second largest International crime in the world.
IN THE WORLD!
Something to think about . . .
White on my wrist red on the clock
Menacing with a secondhand
That hangs on the wall
While the reel of visions
Unravel in my mind
The harder I try to stop
The faster they come
Searching and found
Unmoving on the ground
Lifeless and stiff
Gun by his hand
Facedown in a river of blood
I can’t stop either
Or visions from coming
Over and over like a broken projector
And yet it somehow all slows
As it meticulously drives me mad –