Card of the day, the nine of swords. Some of the description for this tarot card: “When this card shows up in a reading it is likely that you are being plagued by worry, anxiety and fear.” And. “This card advises us to start confronting our worries and fears. Start taking steps to solve your problems. Talk to someone about whats on your mind. Write in a journal. Start taking better care of your health. Do something.” And so. Not long after the fires wreaked havoc along the scenic South African coastline which is the Garden Route an apartment block in London burns down. The following week Portugal experiences it’s worst natural disaster in forever when a fire breaks out there…
“These things come in threes.”
It’s hard not to point at the climate change thing as having something to do with all this, but it seems the world is still in denial about that. Why denial? I didn’t want to get into all that here. What I did want to get into is what sort of impact the news of these things are having on the atmosphere of my internal landscape. Something along the lines of watching a reality crumble. Something sort of still related to what I was talking about before. About how what’s going on outside of you seems to speak a bit to what’s going on inside of you. I guess the more traditional idea involves the state of things outside of you being dependent, being affected by, what state the inside of you is.
I’m meant to bring that around to where things stand at the moment. How I took mom to the oncologist yesterday and heard him confirm she has stage four cancer. That it has spread from her lungs to her liver. How that means she can’t be cured. That at this point “it’s in her blood”. On the internet it says the life expectancy of someone in that situation isn’t very long. I’m meant to bring that around to what impact that news has had on me, or how emotionally it seems like something is missing, how it should be all sorts of messy, unpleasant, unhappy. How it seems that what I am meant to be going through doesn’t seem to be happening inside of me, but it does seem to be happening outside of me.
There’s an interesting correlation involving opposites. Out is opposite to In. Fire is opposite to Water. The water that should come out of me as tears if it involved the inside of me makes an appearance as fire when it involves the outside of me. Maybe that’s all a little bit too far fetched. That’s taking it just a little beyond the distance of what might be construed as comfortable. But at this point I’ll take comfort from wherever I can get it. And yeah; it does comfort me to think that as much as it doesn’t seem like I’m feeling what might be an appropriate way to feel considering the circumstances or, if I’m not expressing an appropriate reaction that, well, yes, that’s okay; the world will stand in for you on that, it will express an appropriate reaction on your behalf. It will wail, it will cry. It will set itself on fire in a fit of rage.
It will set itself on fire in a fit of despair.
The poor sod had gotten dirt in his eye on Sunday. Picked up some trash that had been laying around in the garden, carried it above his head to get it past some plants. Looked up to see what was falling down from there on his head, into his hair. And so some dirt had got in his eye. Later that night it got irritating to keep feeling the dirt still in his eye. A few wishy-washy attempts to get it out and, no, it wasn’t going anywhere. Eventually enough was enough, it was time to let the dirt know who was boss. Make it regret the day it had decided to Meddle like this. He let the eye have it then. Dug a hole where his eye used to be. Until. A hollow orb staring back at him in the mirror.
No dirt there.
Stubborn stupid hair stuck there under the eyelid somewhere. With a bit more guerrilla warfare the eyelash was dislodged. Rudely removed and put into handcuffs. Shoved from the rear to where the police car was parked. Waiting. They would make sure it would disappear. As satisfying as it was to watch it go that damn stupid something is stuck in your eye feeling persisted. So he took a blowtorch to it. Burnt what was left of the annoying sensation into a neat pile of ashes. After a while only to realize there wasn’t anything actually still in there anymore anyway. The eye was complaining because of the damage he’d done taking the eyelash off it earlier. It was starting to swell now and turn a worrying shade of red. He put some eye-drops in it and went to bed.
It was a big day the next day taking mom to see the oncologist. They’d arrived early so as not to offend such a professional and prestigious an institution. It took the poor folk three hours to get out of that stupid fncked up place. Spending most of the time just waiting. Getting all the information they needed in a brief thirty minute stretch right at the end of it. Three hours of sitting in air conditioning; something the eye did not take very kindly to. It watered constantly and started to produce a thick yellow milky goo that partially obscured everything. He’d not shaved, or had a shower in days. Hadn’t even bothered to comb his hair. The clothes he wore the same as what he’d slept in the night before.
The fine young man faintly smelt like… Stale Urine.
To the untrained eye this appeared to be a man that was not coping well with something. Like perhaps maybe he had a slight drinking problem. Like he was homeless probably. When he looked at you it was with Tired Eyes Slowly Burning. Sort of like he was on the verge of crying, but could not. Would not. There was a drought going on in that guy. In such a mess he couldn’t even cry right. To himself he thought it strange how well he was coping. Feeling perfectly fine navigating this cold, barren, sterile office block landscape with a mother that was dying. He held her arm and helped guide her through the maze that was This Awful Place. This place that failed miserably in its attempt to pass for something warm and caring. He made a mental note to try appreciate the smaller things a bit more going forward. To not take it for granted when his eye didn’t bother him anymore. Hoping that things would return to normal soon enough.
Hoping that the tears would stop falling.
“You’d tiptoe halfway across a rooftop, drop headfirst in the river
You’d stretch out for a helping hand
And once again I’d stand there
Not close enough to touch, but I heard you call my name
As you died”
~ DEJA VU ~ The Tear Garden ~