Monthly Archives: July 2013

Hello Sorrow

Today I cried a lot.  I didn’t know where it came from, at first.  It was sudden thunderstorms.  The forecast said, not a cloud in the sky but suddenly the rain came down.  It hit the ground loudly at first.  It startled me.  When the ground was wet, it continued to pour and pour making drum beats on the pavement.  It was unpleasant and cold.  I felt alone and ashamed of my loneliness, drowning in the water of my sorrows.  Sorrows, that were nicely buried when the climate was dry.  But the rain moved through the dirt and the sand, and the sorrows shook off their old faces and climbed out to face me.  I had no choice but to say hello.



I dreamed last night that I was on a long journey. The details were blurry but in the morning, when I was waking up, I was only left with one vivid image. I was sitting in a futuristic vehicle that resembled a bus. Inside there were tables and I was sitting at one of them with women who I only knew in the dream. The bus was very spacious inside and it was gliding on water. It was not submersed, only gliding on the surface and as it glides it is creating beautiful swirls of currents on the surface. I was just staring at the water and I felt peaceful, more peaceful then I have felt in a while.
There was a singing fish that my parents have at the house. It sang, “Take me to the river, drop me in the water.” Isaiah pressed the button over and over and cracked up. I didn’t stop him, because I was enjoying it more than he was.
I’ve been feeling like that singing fish. Inside there is a mechanism that keeps pressing a button and my brain is coming up with one thought, over and over: “Take me to the river, drop me in the water.”
The religious Jewish women go to the Mikveh after having their period. For many reasons. One seemed strange to me. When a woman has her menstrual cycle it is considered a that there was a potential for life and then there was death. Within a woman (and probably men), the cycle of life and death is playing itself out each moon. The Mikveh is a ritual cleansing. One of the requirements is that it has to have water flowing in from a natural source.
I have never been to the Mikveh, but after last week I understand what they mean. I may have carried it around inside of me for weeks, without knowing that I was conversing with death.

Take me to the river, drop me in the water and wash me down.

To thine own blog be true

After writing my blog yesterday about my miscarriage, Papa thought it was too personal. My father said it, but many others thought it. I like it when a random guy on the street tells me I look hot. My friend once said that for every guy who says it, there are many men and women who think it but don’t say anything. It makes me feel that I look good that day.

I’ve hit this “too personal” boundary not only with my father in my life, but with few other people. For some chemical imbalance in my brain, I want to be very personal. I don’t want to talk about politics or how hot it is in the city. I don’t even care what your plans are for 4th of July weekend. I want to get personal and quickly.

Sometimes, I share too much. Sometimes, I share too much with the wrong people. Sometimes, I share too much with the wrong people, at the wrong places, at the wrong time.

When I started writing this blog, it was like taking off my clothes in front of strangers. Not that I know what that feels like. My clothes kept closed to the world. I thought that taking off those clothes were going to bring me over the boundary’s border. But the boundary kept moving away. The boundary turned out to be not a vertical line drawn on the ground, but a sine curve. I though it would end at the dip, but it extended forward. A never-ending wave only hitting extreme lows of self-expression and extreme highs. Moving me forward, closer and closer to my truths and to my people.

Oh how I love the sea.


I wish it wasn’t called miscarriage. It makes it seem like I was carrying something and then I missed. I dropped it and into the toilet of all places.  It should be called something more discreet, something a little less … Continue reading