Skinned Alive

Well that was a sweet little traipse through hell and back. One week of purge as the old moon whittled away to nada. A span of time that began with watching bands of color glint across my room. Red, green, yellow, blue, deep violet rainbows compliments of the prism that hangs by a string in the east window. A pen that scribbled notes of my water-spider ways, skimming along my divorce-pack-and-sort days until I hit a wall of sadness with no choice but to stop and sob. Days that bore mention in my journal of my body oozing wet with such abandon I feared I would end up a puddle on the ground. Akin to a caterpillar chrysalis that liquefies, waiting for form that will burst the walls and fly forth in spring. All nicely poetic to this point.

And then it hit. The tsunami of purge. A gastrointestinal bug of such violence I threw up every two feet as I made my way indoors. This baby summoned every orifice to complete the cleanse. For days. No food in; liquid out. Hopes and hates projectiled god knows where. Dreams and schemes. Guilt and guts. Some days I could not lift myself from the morass. Other days I made my way upstairs to continue the work of divorce. Psyche grabbed whatever branches presented themselves as I ripped downstream. A plan, any plan, to give form. Friends organizing a trip to Cuba...did I want to come? A raft trip down the San Juan? A speaking engagement in Taos? I grabbed and let go; took on water, spewed it out.

I awakened this morn to a zillion stars, a thin waning moon and a whole new respect. This dark of the moon didn't just peel away a layer or two. She skinned me alive---split me down the middle, grabbed my flesh and yanked it down and off. There is nothing dreamy about it.