Denial: Superscript - “The Gag Order”

 …and yet we are set to live apart from one another.

Isn’t that a form of death?

Denial.

What is that?

As if I could legitimately refuse to accept your silence or your absence.

Denial of my part in this? Denial of your choice? More likely the denial of the things I really want… Living in a city by the sea, mountains in the distance, mist covering the waters and a thousand shades of brown. Adding patches to my rucksack, travelling through distant countries, trying not to be jealous of those who visit the ancient landscapes I’ve never been to. We send troops to places I’d love to live in. Longing to run my fingers along hand-sewn embroidery on chadors, drink wine from vessels buried in clay to age, haggle over hand-carved treasures, get lost in a maze of souks, humbly place my hand on my heart having received such hospitality…

I wonder when or if my Father will lead me to a country with no map.

Returning to this dilemma. You asked.

… and I always acquiesce to your requests.  If I die in the process - well - I have always been good at the resemblance of the day to day. I wrote the footnotes on survival mode.

She walks in darkness, like the night. Dark soul. Raise a glass to the “gift of letting go”… The forced relinquishment of all the things I love on the altar of the greater good/ the capital Truth/ the hearts of others.

Deny yourself.  Crucify it.  Kill it. 

Nevermind the zombies.