maybe i ought to be greatful that it wasn't a violent encounter, that my fully functioning physical body is still in tact, and that all they got was my soul. thats all.
i can tell you what it feels like to watch yourself die. your heart screams could shatter glass on opposite continents. your gasping shock breath could empty the skies of oxygen. your eyes cry tears so sharp they draw blood from your irises and turn the sea a saltier shade of red. and without the lightness of your spirit, the presence of your soul, your body falls to gravity's force and you lie lifeless on the quiet earth, with no strength to rise up. watching the world continue cryptically without you.
what could empty someone of their bliss and flood them with despair more than the stealing of their soul? i will tell you how it happened. how you can lose yourself: everything i have created on this journey, every poignant poetic expression of my experiences, every inner revelation of saturn's revolutions, all the literary evidence of my personal evolution. all the moments, the ways i existed in the present as moments came and went and came again. stolen. my journal has been stolen. my camera with over a thousand captivating images from six countries has been stolen, my self so traumatized by the horrors of this that i feel like my memories, my perspective, my inner light, has all been stolen. the things that have value only to me are the things that are no longer, and i feel like i have lost myself to the skillfull stealing of some thoughtless thief.
and now, what? trying to stay present. to be here without recording the here. to forget what is lost and forget what i was going to do when i got back and forget why i was here in the first place. weeping, wilting, waiting, wishing, wilting more and wanting to revive my written reality.
really, everything has become invisible, even though they didn't steal my eyes, i feel like i am crying so much that i cannot see tomorrow.
