Despite the wonderous vision of a Crayola box open in color coded little wax sticks, and my desire to live like this, tonight, and until I return to this page again, I will relinquish the need to control. More specifically, my heart.
I’ll still grade the papers, still get my ass to yoga, but I will sit pretty on the chaos that is pumping my blood.
Emotion isn’t something you can outsource. You can’t rub it out like a stain. You can direct it with little nudges like a dog who places his muzzle under your hand to be pet. You can pretend. You can play replacement games, this absence (your arms) can be filled with that substance (aardvarks), when, we know it’s not the same.
I will sit on the anxiety like a cushion in a tea house. I will pick at the grief like gum stuck to my shoe. I will let there be love when there is no guarantee it will come back, throwing teacups and teacups into the bay.
These metaphors are zoo cages for the mess I may feel. Sigh. Yelp. Recline. If you let go of the need to control it, sometimes you get to work through it. That’s the idea. That’s how I feel.