Separation

For some, it’s a blessing. When a relationship devolves into imbalance or abuse, the best option for both parties is to go separate ways. For a lot of people, though, the idea of separation is hard to stomach. It can inspire anxiety, depression, fear, general distress.

In the worst case, the decision to separate is not mutual, leaving someone feeling blindsided, hurt, and confused. Blame may be thrown around. Expectations are dashed. And ultimately, somebody is left to shoulder what may be an enormous loss.

Loneliness is a common after-effect of separation. It’s extremely important to seek support from others in the wake of a nasty loss of this nature. What must be remembered is that, although the present may seem bleak and empty, the future holds myriad possibilities.

This may not be very reassuring, especially not right away, but it’s true. The future can hold anything. We need only focus our intentions and work to manifest our desires. We will be okay.

Now I’ll share some pieces I wrote while I meditated on Separation and the emotions it can instill:

SKELETON HOME

She looked back through the door one last time, her hair a partial curtain that could do nothing to mitigate the impact of the sight. And the sight was dim, dull, graying with death. The furniture stood so motionless, so soundless, that in each piece she saw moldering skeletons, empty skulls peering back at her. The closet had no monsters in it; they had vacated, knowing that all living things had gone and there was no work left to be done. The bed was not made. One pillow lay precariously at the far end of the bed, about to fall to the floor. The blankets were shriveled, like the skin of grapes left out in the sun all day. She shuddered with agony and closed her eyes. How could she abandon this place? Her sanctuary. But the magic had gone, had bled out through the floorboards and the slits under the windows where drafts leaked in. It had bled out of her, pulling, yanking, a violent exit that she prayed would never end. She swallowed, choked, let out a trembling breath, sobbed once, clenched, turned, and left. The whole time, a voice in her head screamed, 'No, No, NO!' Her tears hit the stairs as she descended, and in her wake, pink chrysanthemums bloomed from the wood.

DISAPPOINTMENT

The soil rose up and took the shape of a human body. She approached the creature of raw earth. She put her hand over its chest. No heartbeat. No breath. No life. Only a deceitful animation. In disgust she clawed through it. The creature made no sound, made no move to defend its person. Its torso detached from its legs. Each part collapsed and disintegrated into a pile. The whole scene resembled the site of an exhumed corpse. Dirt beneath her nails, she dragged her hands down her face and left scratch marks on her cheeks, shallow lesions that bled mildly. She abandoned the spot and vowed to never return again.

GENTLENESS

It wasn't in her nature to be gentle. So as she looked out over the village that had exiled her, fearing her uncanny insights and her enigmatic creations, she pressed her fang-teeth into her bottom lip until she tasted blood. A trail ran down her chin and a small cloud of red smoke collected before her face. Then she spoke binding words, words thick and ferocious as molten lava, slick and sly as a serpent, poison dripping, heart-pounding, soul-wrenching. The words attached to the smoke and moved like a ribbon outwards, swirling and undulating down the craggy hillside toward the village. For a long moment, all was quiet, and the smoke had vanished from sight. She waited and watched with eyes like coal, blood drying to a thin crust on her chin. Then the screaming started. These screams belonged to victims of unfathomable torment. These screams belonged in a nightmare. And that is where they would remain, locked in a hideous realm of her design with no escape, until the day she felt gentler.

EXORCISM

The knife is tiny. It flips out of its casing. Nothing is important except the keen tip. She presses it to the blister between her breasts. This produces a startling pain, and she gasps. Her fingers tremble. Her whole body is quaking. She presses the tip until it strikes resistance. Bone, maybe. Or stone. Or her heart. Greenish white puss oozes readily from the incision as she removes the knife tip. No blood shows. Just an outpouring of infection. Whatever has been festering there has been given more than enough time to grow in substance. She sobs as the puss trails down the chasm of her ribcage. The puss is accompanied by whispers that rise in volume as more is expelled. These whispers say she will die. They say she will never heal. They say she will feel this pain forever. She closes her eyes. Her face is contorted in defiance and agony. Eventually, she bleeds red and the whispers cease.