“Do not seek any rules or method of worship. Say whatever your pained heart choose.”– Rumi
I lost a great deal in 2017 including a best friend, lover, and Partner.
I lost Rigsby too.
I lost other things including my reputation, home, and friends. Some of my loss was by choice. Some were by the choice of others.
I care until I don’t. I never pretended about my passion or commitment to C before. Right now, as I have always been, I’m still committed to her. We do what we know until we are ready to know something different.
A painter paints. A writer writes.
Do not tell me I should close the door. Do not presume to know my intent or what is best. There are no rules to grieving. Do not demand I bend my knees at your house of worship.
My heart will turn when my heart is ready.
My lessons are mine to learn. The pain is mine to face. The path is mine to trudge. I’ve allowed one month for every year as I wait for winter to pass. Meanwhile, I will sit, separating the wheat from the chaff so come spring I can sow the seeds for a better harvest.
“As the sun cannot withhold its light, we cannot withhold what feels real,” writes Mark Nepo. What I paint with my words is real, true, vulnerable, and heartfelt. They are simply messages in a bottle I hope will wash up onto the icy shores of C’s distant heart to someday be opened, read, and bring a new spring to her soul.