Thursday, July 12, 2012
Riptide: I Am, I Am, I Am
"Maybe I could just go with the exhaustion, instead of fighting it. Give in to it. This was how people drowned, wasn't it? They just stopped fighting, Just relaxed and gave themselves over to the water." (Wally Lamb, I Know This Much Is True) Some nights, when everything is quiet; when I am alone with my fears; when my inadequacies show themselves most plainly, I hear the rushing water. More often than not, as the tide washes in, I struggle against the current, swim toward the shore, and readjust my stance on solid ground. But sometimes, more often now than before, I find myself caught in the riptide. On those nights, I lay awake and pray for morning. As the hours, and the minutes, and the seconds tick by, I "listen to bray of my old heart, I am, I am, I am". (Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar) There is no comfort in the pounding. My existence seems more Ted Hughes poem, than anything real: “Nobody wanted your dance, Nobody wanted your strange glitter, your floundering Drowning life and your effort to save yourself, Treading water, dancing the dark turmoil, Looking for something to give.” (Ted Hughes, Birthday Letters) I am. I am. I am.