Earth to Ephemera

From an era where I believed I was broken beyond repair. Cheers to meeting the Source of Love within, and now my loving cup never runs dry, except for on occasion…

I wasn’t going to post this piece because I thought it would be regressive. I believed this deeply misunderstood and jaded time in my life was behind me, but then, literally a day after I had this inclination, life humbled me and imbued me with gratitude for the experiences that contributed to my becoming.

I have realized that burying an old version of myself without regard for all the work she contributed to my evolution would be to succumb to shame and societal conditioning that keeps us stuck in the past. I am not ashamed of my mistakes and lesser forms because the mirror being held up to my many faces has reflected valuable knowledge back into my being. Knowledge that helps me to honor myself and better love the world around me.

We are never completely above or in front of something. Any deeply felt reminder of a past wound can show us the space where love will come rushing in once the bleeding has stopped completely.

I will admit, I am feeling the phantom pain of an unsightly lesion, so this writing is cyclical in its relevancy. It is important to honor a working, even if it is years behind us. When we think life is perfect and we are invincible, there will always be an earthly experience to remind us we are anything but. Sometimes, my humanness is utterly sickening.

My Heart & I Are Taking a Break (December 2022)

Featured in my book, Malady of the Heart — my first artistic collection on love, loss, and the exploration of the human condition.

My heart feels as if it’s been ripped out of my chest and carelessly re-placed. Still beating, though bloody, bruised, and grieving. I don’t know what to do to stop this horrendous feeling. I have tried everything to appease her, and sadly, nothing seems to suffice.

I ceased imbibing spirits as it only made her bleed erratically. I don’t drink coffee on days when she’s anxious for fear she may beat too quickly and work up a panic. I exercise to keep her healthy and pray for her happiness, wholeness, and healing. I read whimsical books to fill her with optimism and joy. Together, we nourish our friendships, but romance has mangled her. Then love lost has throttled what remains and thrown her to the side — what a gruesome sight.

Her pain persists no matter what I do, demanding to be felt, screaming at me to hear her plight. She pleads with me to make the red weeping stop, and I look upon her with a wistful grimace. She’s childlike in her hope. And ironically, she thinks I have a say in the matter.

She’s always been complex in her ownness and obstinate in her ways. I am not the selfish one here; she is just too giving. She is fearless and boundless, but the recoil of unrequited love always has a way of undoing her. Then, I am left to pick up the pieces. I am not unsympathetic to her cries, but I have got to have my boundaries respected. She forgets I am the one being kept awake at night by the wailing of a wounded heart.

I just can’t seem to get through to her, so I’ve decided to write her a letter. Maybe then, she’ll realize she’s coughing and sputtering in a sticky, crimson-colored pool of her own dramatic doing. Yes, I know it hurts, Heart. I feel it too, but we cannot let it have such a profound and prolonged impact on our being.

My Wounded Heart,

I feel you; I swear! How can I not? I see and hear you, but I don’t know what to do with you. Genuinely, I do not. This seems to be a recurring problem. I know you don’t do it often but when you do you always take me down with you.

Love is art to you, and art is magical and transformative. You abandon every ounce of practicality you own in pursuing dreamy love, dancing blissfully in Neptunian delusion.

The love you long for is beyond elusive, yet you still seek it.

You want the kind of love people write poetry about, even at the risk of the art being morose. You’re a bit twisted and tend to revel in the beauty of heartache, languishing in the remembrance of what feels like pages from a fairytale. Then things go south, and of course, this is where you pull a classic “you.” You snuff out your life-sustaining flame, and your darkness is ridiculously debilitating. Did you know this?

I wake up every morning and, with first coherent breath, immediately want to retch — A cute little good morning gift from you. The day drudges on with the sole purpose of making it through. That is, without sustaining too much damage from you.

At some point, I start to relax and think, “Hey, maybe things aren’t so bad.” Then you swoop in with a wave of nostalgia and whisper in my ear, “Remember when…?” and just like that, I’m swallowed whole by you. Neither of us can carry on like this. I’ve done my part and promise to continue cultivating a practice of love. Now I need you to do your part and heal.

You are deeply felt, despite my best efforts to quell you. I don’t want to suffocate you, but you’re so damn loud I can’t think straight sometimes! My ears are ringing from the voracity with which you pump sorrow into my veins. And I hate to treat you this way, but you’re ruining my life. Sometimes I wish you would just go away.

I wish I could pluck you out myself and stow you away in a lovely, beaded, velvet box where only I know you reside. Then return for you when I know I’ve found the one who is truly mine, who will treat you gently, with care and pride.

When I return, I pray that dust hasn’t dulled your shine, darkness hasn’t dimmed your light, and isolation hasn’t made you forget that you are loving, generous, and kind.

After spilling my soul out to you and talking this through, maybe I don’t want to put you away, or maybe I will, but just for a day. Or maybe, just maybe, we forever part ways. No, no, no, that can never be true. There are so many things I love about you.

But girl, you must know you’re intense, like all the time, and you bring me way too much pain. Yes, you’ve brought me sunshine, but you’ve also brought me lots of rain. I think I’ve found the only solution to remain. Oh, eternally naive heart of mine, I think we need to go on a break.

Babes, I promise I won’t make you wait so long to see my face. But I really, truly need to reclaim my space.

Remember, you are the love, and you make the magic, despite your current state being so tragic.

Navigating life heart first is perhaps the most courageous yet stupid thing one can do. But you don’t care because you will always remain true to you.

Love always,

Dom

❤

Peek inside the walls of my aching heart.

Enter here