November is ushered in with dead days.
All Saints' Day. All Souls' Day.
Dia de Muertos. Day of the Dead.
The dead days reflect the essence of my soul: empty, withered, drained, lifeless. I feel I'm among the living dead.
Is this too depressing for you?
Too bad. It's my reality check.
(sensitive souls, hold your ears)
Life can be an unrelenting bitch. It can ruthlessly drain you of every positive thing you once had - and as you're reeling in disbelief, it will unceremoniously kick you in the ass and make sure you're down permanently for the count.
Paltry prayers will never be a potent enough ploy for you to get up again. Prayers fade and dissolve in shrouds of cold vapidity before they get to Heaven. Only the blessing of your tepid hopefulness will save them.
Don't ponder that for too long - - you'll hurt yourself. I'm merely thinking out loud and saying things that you already know but are afraid to acknowledge.
I have begun November in the putrid realms of impenetrable darkness. No need to panic.
The darkness will pass. Eventually.
These dark realms are a part of my complex, enigmatic nature.
I was never an optimist, never a saint, never a foolish Pollyanna. The unrelenting tribulations of life have ravaged me so many times that it has extinguished the candles of Faith.
The realms of Hell are what we experience when we are living.
I ventured outside and walked in the forest yesterday. A brief welcomed respite.
My original intention was to post forest photos today (I'm sure you're excitement knows no bounds)........but I got sidetracked with my dismal dissertation.
I'll post the photos tomorrow. Or soon.
The following photo was taken yesterday in early afternoon. Eerie mists and a feeble sun turned the forest into a monochromatic dreamscape.
Until soon, Jon
I always enjoy the first days of November, but when the leaves are gone, every year I sink deeper and deeper into depression. I tried an antidepresent for a very short while, it made my late autumn into winter even worse and physically made me feel like shit. I stopped taking it and would not take it again at all .Those were in the days when I didn't feel like shit most days anyway. I have something a bit like a fear of winter. It started when I was a child and all of my grandparents died in winter, my Mom died in the winter, my Dad died in the winter, so many of my loved ones died in winter. These days as fall days pass and we get closer to winter I worry who will be next on this year's winter spin the wheel of death. Isn't it amazing how we go from these beautiful Indian Summer days/Native American Summer days/Indigenous American Peoples Summer days when it is so beautiful outside with the sun and all of the shades of leaves and there is that woodsy scent as you crunch through the leaves. We have to carry it in our minds and photographs until spring and next summer comes again.
ReplyDeleteFingers crossed the sun is shining on you and Bosco once again! Wine time!
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteFault Line
ReplyDeleteDid you ever think there might be a fault line
passing underneath your living room:
A place in which your life is lived in meeting
and in separating, wondering
and telling, unaware that just beneath
you is the unseen seam of great plates
that strain through time? And that your life,
already spilling over the brim, could be invaded,
sent off in a new direction, turned
aside by forces you were warned about
but not prepared for? Shelves could be spilled out,
the level floor set at an angle in
some seconds’ shaking. You would have to take
your losses, do whatever must be done next.
When the great plates slip
and the earth shivers and the flaw is seen
to lie in what you trusted most, look not
to more solidity, to weighty slabs
of concrete poured or strength of cantilevered
beam to save the fractured order. Trust
more the tensile strands of love that bend
and stretch to hold you in the web of life
that’s often torn but always healing. There’s
your strength. The shifting plates, the restive earth,
your room, your precious life, they all proceed
from love, the ground on which we walk together.
Paranormal John
November is my favorite month of the year probably because that's when my birthday falls. January and February are my least favorite months. Monochrome months; cold and gray. That's why I loved Palm Springs so much when Pat and I visited for the first time several years ago and thus began an annual visit during Modernism week in January. My goal is to spend at least a month a year in Palm Springs, perhaps two months. However, I can do none of that as long as I am Bill's caregiver, which will be two years this January. This will be the third year (time goes by so fast) that Pat and I haven't visited Palm Springs. I love my home here in southern Delaware but again, January and February not so much. You do live in a beautiful part of the country but I couldn't take all that isolation that you have. I missed seeing more photos of your woods. Always welcomed Jon along with photos of your cat(s). Be well Jon. I will try to stop by more often. By the way, it's much easier to leave a comment on your blog now. In the past I have been unable to.
ReplyDelete"Anonymous"? I'm Ron. You know me Jon. (smile)
ReplyDeleteNovember is the month when I mourn the fact that October, my favorite, came and went way too fast. And, this also means the holidays sill come rushing in way too quickly and seem to hold less joy then in years past and that depresses me.
ReplyDeleteI completely know the feeling. November is always the beginning of my depression and only gets worse throughout the winter months while awaiting Spring.
ReplyDelete