Lost at the Bottom

Right now, I'm shallow.

Photo by Cristian Palmer on Unsplash

Breathe IN

I'm at a place where I must name where I lack. It is difficult but must be done to get past its hinderance and elevate or rather deepen into the person that I am. Right now, I am shallow. What I mean is that I do not know much about anything. I am a master of nothing and a jack of surface level trades. I am wading in a pond of interest but searching for the river that will sweep me away to the grandness of the ocean. Passion simmers beneath pots but none really ever reach the point of a boil. I find matters of emotions and brain development deeply intriguing but have done little research to further develop my knowledge.

I am deeply drawn to protecting the rights, freedom, advancement, and play of children but in my day to day I do next to nothing that proves that. I miss teaching in that way. The classroom was our own underground railroad if you will. We made revolutionary bounds of connection that released the trauma that their little bodies and brains already experienced. I was their protector, their teacher, and their friend. I admit that I feel a sense of emptiness where fulfillment used to be. I do not know where to go to get it back because I cannot return to the system that I have already left.

I have interests in writing but struggle with what I want to write about without sounding redundant or incomplete. Then I watch shows, read books, and realize it doesn't matter what I write because somebody somewhere anticipates the words that sprawl from my fingertips onto the page. I even love to paint but have not been inspired to pick up a paintbrush in years. So many happenings and my talent fail to keep up with the visions eye project onto the canvas. Yet still, I've put zero effort into advancing my skill.

I can continue on naming multiple more instances, but I'll save myself from self-debilitating thoughts. I am unraveling and the threads that were twisted and wound up tightly are revealing to be frayed and utterly worn. I cannot go on how I am. I need more. My soul is crying out for more and I know that on the other side of whatever this is I will be remade with roots and vines. It is time I find rest within a tree where I can release the weight of body into the rough bark that has rivers of wisdom etched into its hidden rings.

These past few months, April especially, have rained down on me heard. My brain does not feel like mine in the way it turns everything into an anything possibility, mostly toward doom, death, and disaster. Intense rumination that knocks on my chest—a feeling kin to seeing red and blue lights beaming in your rearview mirror or an unexpected pounding on the door. That eerie feeling that death is near even if it never arrives. I've been surrounded by joy and celebration but drowning in despair. The alcohol bottle found its way back to me and I reveled in our relationship. It put me to sleep but even then, my dreams offered no moments of rest. So, I had to put myself to rest and allow a new version of me to bloom. I am allowing myself to sink into the muddiness of rain-soaked soil because it is only in the depths am I realizing the truth of my constant pervasive worry. I am rising anew with a revitalized sense of purpose and deserving. Not free from the anxiety, accepting of the infinite possibilities.

---

Simply Buried

I'm buried under possibilities
but not in the sense of being tightly trapped
in Earth's core eight feet deep,
paralyzed by the depth, the dark, and the defeat.
No, I'm different now.

I'm buried in possibilities.
Engulfed by the past, the present, and the future
never truly knowing where I am or where I'm going.
I'm fetal position in Mother's womb.
Oceans of love holding me up and pushing me down,
perfectly positioned so even if my lungs fill up,
I won’t drown.

Yes, I'm a baby.
Every day is my first time living so no matter
how many days are behind there's an infinite more
that breath will draw water of life from time.

Possibilities rained down on me since my mother nurtured me
until we both almost didn't survive.
Complicated birth, we truly could have died.
But today we live and being buried under possibilities is the greatest gift.
My mother birthed me into her hands and is still holding on
for as long as she can but her fingers' grip has already slipped.
Now, I'm in the care of Mother's womb.

I taste its saltiness with my tongue, ahh bittersweet.
Its daily burn causes me to weep yet it is healing open wounds
that would otherwise fester and become a soul body infection.
So yes, I will gladly be buried in the infinite of possibilities.

I used to be afraid to get my face wet or go underwater.
Why would I when I can't open my eyes without feeling
the sting of being blinded? My ears are rushed and filled with loud silence.
Heartbeat quickening until breath is held until it completely leaves.
It used to be a hell no, no thanks but now I am floating underwater
learning to allow the sacred connection to fill my lungs with life.
I'm finally breathing underwater.

I can't control the storms or the gentle and the slow.
I must trust that weight is necessary to both save and sustain.
Eye keep my eyes closed still but I see fine most days.
My ears may be full, but my body feels the energetic waves of love and pain.
I can hear so much more. And my heart. Well, my heart is held
by many waves of hands. I'm not buried alone.

Sometimes the possibilities burn hot and threaten to sear skin.
Its burn peel back layers and I find myself at the bottom of a bottle.
That's when I know I'm rising toward the surface with a message not sent from me

Other times the possibilities turn my fingers and toes purple
and freeze my organs 'til I become stagnant and numb.
In those moments I've sunken too low toward impossible answers of the unknown.

My cool steadily warmed is my way of being.
Perfectly in place, buried within possibilities.
Nestled in the beautiful chaos between "what will be, will be.”
and “if it’s to be, it’s up to me.”

---

Breathe OUT

But man am I tired. I feel like I, we, are being violently chipped away with an icepick. Hammered and dug into until we are molded into doll versions of a self, designed by the hateful until we melt under their hot vile breath and disappear. So much of our progress and freedoms are being legally stripped away. It is disgusting and truly disastrous. I try to stay focused on the fact that no piece of paper or corruption can steal my humanity. Hatred is running rampant and people fueled by it are growing bold and claiming lives as theirs to take, to end. We mustn't lose faith in love or retreat to pursue softness, ease, and joy alone. We can fight back against the unnatural order that has unfolded before our eyes.

One of those ways is rest. It is okay to be tired. It is okay to have moments of deep despair or feelings of hopelessness. We mustn't stay there though. We cannot. Learning the delicate balance of preparation, action, play, and rest is difficult to maintain. Sometimes we must lean into one aspect more than another, but we cannot afford to neglect any. Rest for me includes community--resting in the arms, hearts, and spaces that are safe for me to show up without masks or filters is a type of rest I covet. Rest for me is dancing in my living room and feeling this new body. Rest is curling up on the couch with my wife and our catson giving way to the mindless binging of a good show. Rest is whatever I desire because it too is my preparation toward action, toward play, toward a vision of connectedness.

Even with support of loved ones and community we can still find ourselves struggling with mental health. I have not been clinically diagnosed with anxiety, but that does not negate my real lived experiences navigating its effects. Anxiety is a normal reaction to stressors and honestly, in this climate simply an indicator of awareness and care to the massive and violent disorder that exists. So much chaos without purpose is constantly circling around us. Like maelstroms of disaster held in the palms of our hands. It is a blessing and a curse to have immediate access to information but when what we know greatly outweighs our sense of control, the imbalance gives way to fear, stress, depression, and anxiety.

Perceived comfort has been unveiled as we realize how delicate our freedoms are and how fragile our power is. Our power is fragile because our connectedness is weaker than spotty Wi-Fi. Online we offer support, comment, and commend what mirrors our own identities, but offline we are collectively sad, lonely, neglected, and confused. We know so much about so much, yet we know very little in depth. We follow people for years without having a conversation. Voyeurism and silent admiration. Or envy. Our phones have simultaneously siloed us and served us community on a screen. But the mere fact that people are talking to AI as if it's a human friend, therapist, and mentor is indication enough just how far removed we are from each other. Let alone directly causing the rapid degradation of Earth for said conversations.

I know it's hard to keep caring, especially Black and indigenous folk. We have been screaming of injustice, bearing the brunt of systemic and interpersonal abuse, and plucked from earth without remorse for centuries. The trauma, the pain, the exhaustion is all encompassing. Somehow though we care anyway and we continue to dance even when our knees creak like the floorboards in our grandparent's houses, we laugh as loud as the neighborhood dogs carrying on outside, we smile as wide as that big pot of greens simmering on the stove. We still carry life despite it. I hold space for you and for me to falter and fall. Perfection is never the goal. The continuing is. You are needed even when you are at your lowest, even when you regress, even when you do not know yourself. You are always known to life. Continue on and try again.

I pray these words meet you in a resting space. I pray we find quiet amidst the confusion and chaos. I pray we find our way back to each other. I pray that the hold of AI convenience gives way to the need of togetherness. I pray, I pray, I pray.

As always,
With Love, Sage