|Homeless Encampment, La Brea Blvd., just south of Olympic|
Los Angeles, 2016
Sophie's not doing too well, again. I'm not sure what's going on or when it's going to turn or even if it's going to turn. It's not so much seizures (although they're persistent) but more her overall well-being. This feeling I get when I spoon food in her mouth and she's working so hard to chew it. Or maybe she's not working at all. The way her juice comes out the corners of her mouth and drips down her arm. I imagine the sensors in her mouth dulled, struck by lightning, over and over. Some food falls out of her mouth and down the bib and I look away. I have been watching the suffering for a long time. She has been suffering for a long time. I'm not sure whether she actually is suffering or whether I am suffering doing the watching. The lines between us are blurred. I realize that's fucked up. Mea culpa. I forget to abide. I'm not sure when those questions when will it get better? will I figure it out? is it this? is it that? will she know? what should I do? will he know? stopped rising out of my brain. Perhaps I stopped feeding them the yeast of discontent and doggedness. The line between resignation and acceptance is thin and bloody. My tears are still clear. It's all pretty mighty and terrible. Terrible in the Biblical sense. Like awesome. Everything unleavened.
The only thing is to Be Here Now.
Today, my friend Melissa stopped by with her husband Marc. I haven't seen them in ages or even talked to her in while. I had been sitting in Sophie's room, reading a book while she slept fitfully, loaded up with rectal Valium. I'd been crying. A lot. Melissa texted me from outside, so I went out there and gave her a hug. She gave me a tiny silver medallion with a mermaid on it. She had no idea I'd had such a morning, that Sophie had had such a morning. Yet she was there with a mermaid charm. Everything lifted. Poof.
I read this somewhere:
You are my compass
I'm perpetually lost
I love this: