tmbt: razor’s edge
It is a razor’s edge, this moment we walk upon. Some speak of balance when one is here. They do not mention the slicing. Of course I will not fall off of the edge, silly! My feet are sunk into the blade and I pull myself along as if the steel has always been there.
She said, “Sweetie, you really nailed yourself in this time.” I breathed a long exhale – the kind I’d been waiting to breath out my whole life, the kind that was just waiting for someone to say it, that they understood how hard it was. Yes, it is hard to be a human being. It is so very hard. And it is harder for some than others. I do not wear my suffering as a badge of honor, as a metal of some sort, a medallion of specialness. No. I hold it like a mistake. I hide it mostly, my Grand Cross. I was overzealous, she said. Now I know more than ever that she was right.
I was going to go see her before the new year. I wanted her to tell me if I had done a better job of learning about suffering as I intended without letting it ruin me. I think the answer would have been yes, at least I was hoping so, but it is not she who will tell me. She lay in a bed now, dying, my insightful, lovely friend. And though I am so very sad for her pain, for her partner, for the ones so very close to her, I am also sad for myself. I am selfishly wanting her who uncovered the curse to tell me it was all going to be okay. That he may pick me up in the end. That I may actually be happy in the end. That I had done well with the cards I dealt to myself. Now she will not, she will never, and I find myself in a panic. Again, I must do it alone – figure it out, find peace here – alone. Oh, if only that were not such a possibly imminent condition. She will never tell me. No one will. I will never know… until it happens. But it won’t. Because life doesn’t happen, it just is. One day, we realize that we have love. On day, we realize that it is gone. One day, we are breathing. Then we’re not. It just is.
I cannot lift my feet out of the impalement. I cannot divorce my bones from the steel. I cannot persuade the slice to retreat instead of climb. It is climbing towards my heart, I think… like a sliver. They instilled such fear in us as children, about slivers. Get them out right away, they said, or they’ll work themselves into your bloodstream and up into the heart, to sudden death. They said nothing about loving you. How it would burn from foot to head and back again, dragging itself up towards the heart. And so, because they said nothing, I simply do not know what the razor will do. Perhaps it will be as the sliver. Or perhaps it will slice open the barbed wire, exposing a world for all to see. Perhaps it will cut the line from you to me. I doubt it, but I do not know and with no one to tell me, I will continue to not know and simply watch the silvery future find it’s way to where it is going. Nothing will happen. It will just be. I just hope that when what is finally is, that it will be beautiful.