Monday, February 18, 2013

happy shop

Skies are dark. Storms loom on the horizon but there is no hope of rain. Only this dull heat. We’ve forgotten to fill the bird bath with water for too long. Even the birds have given up. Skies are full of curved balls and flaming arrows. And thirsty birds, obviously. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this blog going because I don’t like the idea of not writing the truth. Is this not the purpose of anyone who dares to sew words together?  I could carry on writing about the sky, the weather, how the children make me laugh and weep and stretch my heart wider and wider, so gladly, so gladly, but all those shiny things are not the only fabric of our lives. It takes more dark blue to weave a beautiful carpet.

Pain is so stark. So present. So eina. No matter if you lie still on the cold stone floor and wish it away. It’s there. Like the black dog. When you wake up in the morning, you have a brief respite of say 2 minutes before the dreaded realization, the awful reality, swims into focus and you can barely get out of bed. Pain gobbles up words and notes and leaves you ship wrecked, reaching for the vodka.

I wish it was as simple as swinging by a shop to pick up some happiness. There. Pop it into a  brown paper packet tied up in string, take it home and eat it fresh, like we did as kids, picking out the inside of the hot loaf on the way home, knowing everything’s going to be ok.

Betrayal, on any level, is a dark and dangerous beast which needs to be sjambokked to death by kindness, love, compassion and humor. The saddest people are always the funniest.

But, across the wild tangled wood drear, on the other side of the mountains, over the rivers, ‘cross the whip lashed plains, there is hope. There is light which shines courageously, which will not be snuffed. Like a lighthouse, it will guide me through these treacherous seas. I went to the sea, a wild and beautiful cold sea, where the white horses pounded the jagged rocks, hungrily wishing for a boat to smash. I saw eight dolphin spinning by in the silver dawn. They tattooed themselves behind my eye lids.

My chest breaks wide open with the beautiful weight of the world.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for leaving comments, which at times have been like life blood, reasons to keep going. Silly, I know, but there you go.

And, Andrew, your translation was right. But you caught the drift anyway. 

Not everything is lost in translation. Thank god.


bellananda said...

dearest janelle, don't ever be afraid to write the truth. even when the truth is pain. when shared, pain becomes more bearable. i've been enjoying reading your blog for some time, though i rarely comment (not much of a commenter, me), and part of what i like about it is that you don't gloss over the more stark realities you face in your world. i'd never know anything about what life is like in your corner of the planet if you did, so i thank you for your openness and your truth.

with love from the center of america,

Bridget W. said...

sorry J... there is something to be said of anonymity when digging deep into one's darker emotions. It takes courage to share. Hugs hugs to you. You write stupendously, never doubt that! You draw me in and send me whirling with you through those highs and those lows. I just dip in far too infrequently, but its like breathing into my soul. Reigniting that flame. Thank you. xxx

Nicola said...

I would go to the Happy Shop and buy smiles, and warm fuzzy feelings and laughs. I would wrap them in a big brown pathe paper bag, with a polka dot ribbon and give it to my sister who needs happiness so much now.

Amanda said...

keep the blog going, janelle. keep writing the truth. yours is one of the few blogs where i can hear it loud, clear and adorned in elegant language.

Lori ann said...

have we really been blogging now almost 5 years?

my dear janelli please don't worry about not being truthful here, everything you write is truth. what you choose to share doesnt change that. i hope you can find a way to be true to your blog(and yourself) and keep your privacy as much as you need. you have always, truly always been my favorite writer in blogland.
and i really hope that whatever pain is in your heart is healed soon.
much love, lori

JoeinVegas said...

Yes, say whatever you want.
And the vodka they sell in the Happiness Shop only lasts a little while, then comes the hangover.

Sarah said...

come. wine on roofs, and certainly we will be very, very funny. miss you. come!

Sarah said...

come. wine on roofs, and certainly we will be very, very funny. miss you. come!

Mark said...

Watching a 60 minute spot on African elephant poaching, which is what led me to your blog a couple of years ago. How I don't know, but I'm glad that I did.

Mark said...

Watching a 60 minute spot on African elephant poaching, which is what led me to your blog a couple of years ago. How I don't know, but I'm glad that I did.

Janelle said...

thank you bellananda...x

b! thanks darlin'...indeed. courage. sjoe.x j

love polka dotted ribbons, nicola! hell..maybe i should quit teaching and open a happy shop....hmmm.... x j

thank you for your encouraging words amanda. truly appreciated. x j

lori ann! wha--? five years already? jeez. that is long, eh? thanks for your kind words.x j

thanks joe...i probably will one're right about the vodka...brief respite...but sometimes numbingly comfortable... x j

sarah sarah sarah! i WISH! would love nothing more frankly..but some of us have to stay home to raise and school the kids! but one day...these wings will spread when they feel the urge and jobs and obligations be damned. x j

thank you mark...elephant poaching is RIFE here at the moment...unreal and tragic. foolish. thoughtless. horrible. ew. don't get me started... x j

toomuchaugust said...

i knew i knew you already even before we met. we've been on this same sort of path for some time now. regarding frickin betrayal: go through it (as in: write about it. don't let it steer you, though). sort it out via words. there is something on the other side of that sort of pain. xo plus xo s