ON FALLING DOWN A FULL STOP

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Blind sight scattered my wits
Like whitened bones
Across the deserts of my mind.
I descended into blackness.

Love shrank into the tame cat
By the fire,unacknowledged hate
Grew to fill the room.
I stared too much,
A full stop grew gigantic
Crowded out
All the words in the sentence

I saw nothing but this dot
Now a gigantic black hole
Into which I was dragged.
An energy coming from within my own head
Sucked me into the black hole.
That place was the wrong sort of darkness.

Within that full stop,
Love Fundamental became invisible.
Disappeared into the dark.
I dragged my eyes away
And saw the moon appear , so eerie,
It shone,grey silver.

If I had opened my eyes wider
I would not now lament
What I destroyed in the wormhole
Of the black dot that drew my eye
Into a tunnel of darkness

It blinded me to the light
Did not let me read the sentences
Beside the full stop.
An error of focus left hate
Unacknowledged, unmitigated unredeemed,
Kept from love or goodness.

Afraid to spoil my love with hate,
The fear of hate became
That which spoiled all else
By freezing Love itself

Mary and the cliches

 

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https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-squeaky-wheel/201306/the-seven-hidden-dangers-brooding-and-ruminating

 

It was the best of times, it was  the  worst of times in a very real sense, at this moment in time.
Mary  dreamed Stan was in heaven enjoying the company of Wittgenstein, Jesus and Pascal , not to mention Lady Jane Grey,  Ann of Cleves, Juliet, Cleopatra and an angel.At  least  at this point in time he can’t actually  sleep with them  ,she thought as she woke up.Though did that matter? Can men be faithful and monogamous? Look at Leonard Cohen.Was he better off flitting from flower to flower? Was he so stunning that women threw themselves at him and he could not resist?Or was it he who ran away?

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Sometimes people are actually afraid of intimacy or feel life is short and want some new experiences.Was he a wolf? It takes one to know one
It was indeed  almost the worst of times when Mary remembered she had no food in the house except cat food for Emile.He was all she had now as  her daughter Lyra lived in Australia and Stan was in heaven or hell.
Here I am, she thought, pondering unanswerable questions and not looking after myself .It is probably  best to err on the side of buying food and going out rather than lying in the bed wondering  if life has any inherent  meaning. or  if we must create our own.
Even discussing that with someone else would be better.But men folk don’t want to discuss serious topics with their lovers.
It was an even worse time when she recalled a man who once  loved  her leaving her because she asked him if he knew what post-modernism was one night after going to the cinema to see a comedy.
She realised then that she would have to play a part,To act like a woman.So far it was but moderately successful owing to her myopic view of life
If only I had kept quiet, she told herself,I could be  lying beside  him now enjoying a few kisses and hugs and asking him how to light  the electric fire.Still ,there’s many a slip twixt cup and lip
Now then, said a  loud voice.Stop   ruminating and get  up. One stitch in time saves nine.
Who are you to say that to me, she called nervously ? She wondered of stress  had driven her round the bend.She had begun reading a book which said mental illness in not an illness like flu.It is a reaction to bad events and  other life strains.
It doesn’t matter who I am, just do as I say, came the answer
Mary recognised the voice.It was her dad who had died when she was 9.
Dad, she called, why are you here now?
Because Jesus told us to  love our family, he revealed pleasantly.
Why now after all these years? she persisted.I have missed you.
I always did have a bad sense of direction,he told her.But do as I say.You won’t recover easily if you never get up.Stan is here but he is busy cleaning the gold cutlery for an angel.
Alright, but I never knew there was cutlery up there, she murmured as she put on her  new clothes.She had bought some purple trousers and two new jumpers.One was pink and one  was teal.The trousers were exceptionally comfortable  being  in a last years sale  by a famous label..She  then found some Weetabix in  the cupboard and some long life milk.As she drank her tea she admired the acer’s brilliant red leaves.
Almost too bright, she thought.It’s  due  to the hot September.Plants are affected by their environment and so are we.Especially by bad or hot tempered men and women
Poor people may have  more than in the  past but they tend to live in the ugliest areas of the town with no gardens nor parks.
And seeing the better off walk by wearing expensive clothes it is surprising there are not even more muggings.
She recalled seeing  a man with a Rolex watch and gold earrings on  talking on his new iPhone as he wandered through the Mall.I suppose we think everybody else is like us; we don’t mix with  very poor or very rich people on the whole.Unless we are one of those two types.
Mary went outside and found a neighbour wheeling in her bins.
Thanks ,Tom, she cried.I wondered who it was.I am very grateful.What is post modernism,by the way?Nobody will tell me.
Emile was watching from the window sill.
I knew it was Tom, he mewed.
But you didn’t tell me,Mary replied.
You didn’t ask.
Tom wandered off ,while Mary admired the autumn trees lining the road.Tom turned  back and looked at her but she didn’t notice.
Time for coffee, she muttered and went inside again.She was embroidering a  table mat which said “Rumination is for the birds”.Where it had come from was a puzzle.What a hard life this poor lady has when she could be playing with Tom in the park and going on the swings.I feel it is too hard when we get so stiff we cannot climb up trees and swing in the children’s playground  where we might break the swings….

That’s why I said three.

I remember that wool coat she wore even in summer;
Blue with ridges of black running horizontally.
We walked  along the  bright beach at Rhyl
It was Sunday morning;I has a new missal
I think I lost it with its gold edged pages that morning
I was happy to be alone with her
Just left primary school.
Hardly ever was alone with her to talk.
She seemed almost happy ;three years  of widow-hood
Had almost knocked her down.
She seemed for a few minutes
The woman she used to be.
When you lose one parent, you lose three.
The one left is not the one she used to be
And their conjunction had another being
That’s why I said three.