dead on the inside.

it seems to me that we can feel dead inside.
not like someone has died.
not like some thing may look for the longer winter to come.
not like we ourselves, have died.
but dead, like dead things.
dead like hollow things.
dead like things that started out one way-
alive and active on the inside-
full of something that courses within,
but without our help-
perhaps without our knowledge and
at the least of us,
without even our caring to look at its course.
dead like things that started out this way,
but then ended up the other way.
the way reminiscent of the lively ways-
like a tree that has fallen over in the forest…
its bark still intact,
but its insides crumbled,
holed up in spaces once without space,
mostly hollow on the inside with just enough to validate
that it was once in fact,
a tree that stood in the forest.
that grew in the forest.
that lived in the forest.
it should be noted that the tree may in fact be dead-
and that is its place now in life.
but that feeling dead when you aren’t a tree-
when you are you
and very much still full of that which courses within-
even without your concern…
well then you can feel like a tree
unable to move in the wind-
alive, but dead within the parts that live.

it seems to me that when you are dead on the inside,
you live among other things dead.
or things that wish to be dead.
or in the least,
because dead is about the least of things,
things that have no desire-
perhaps no knowledge-
and most definitely, no desire of the knowledge-
that they can live beyond the death they call living.
there’s a stagnation in the flow.
a place where the most that can happen is that where it pools,
it perhaps turns in on itself.
never a replenishing,
but more a regurgitating of what was…
which looks a lot like what living is to the dead.
dead on the inside looks a lot like this…
like spinning in on yourself
and the force that is you,
perhaps beating yourself up on the rocks
and other things dead in the water,
churning and sinking and bubbling and swirling…
and then resting.
stopping.
being so still that you appear to be
dead.

dead,
but only on the inside.
living on the outside.
looking like you are alive.
or once lived.
or are trying to live now.
but feeling dead on the inside.
like a tree that can’t move in the wind.
like a river that can’t flow around the boulders in its path.
like a lover who can’t kiss back.
like a hand that can’t squeeze when grasped.
like rain clouds that only threaten relief.
like stuck windows on the inside of the cool breeze.
like the breath you can’t take in and the one you can’t release.
like all things you know you should
could
would
do…
if you didn’t feel so unable to do them all.
not fear.
past that.
an overtaking.
not like drowning, but like the inability to rise.
like looking up through the depths…
but somehow resolved to their darkness.

and yet…

 

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  1. #1 by Misty on September 14, 2014 - 8:18 am

    I haven’t read your blog in quite a while, not enough energy left while simply dealing with life for introspection. But the title of this one in my email stopped me this morning because I used those exact words four days ago. Dead on the inside. And I want to fix it. But the weight of other’s expectations and needs makes it hard. To do what I need hurts them. They see my needs as selfish or as regection. I don’t know if you feel that too. I am struggling to find the way to heal me without destroying others but I don’t know the way. Why do we all take things so personally?

    • #2 by foundedna on September 14, 2014 - 8:44 am

      “And I want to fix it…” Jesus on high…I’ve been trying so long to fix that thing called “it” that i’m starting to think it’s what kills us my friend. Maybe not the “it” but the fixing. Like when you overdo something and that, in fact, makes it worse. Look worse. Feel worse. Act worse. Get worse. What are we fixing? Where is the love in fixing who we are and trying in turn to fix everyone and every thing else? Because that’s what we do. We panic in the how and why of who everyone, including ourselves, is and we run ourselves to death. We think that by taking the hurt on ourselves, we aren’t hurting them, but our hurt- THAT hurt, it leaks out of us and onto them. We all hurt. But we, we die too. Not everyone dies. I’ve been told there’s no one like me. It often feels that way. Though now I see that I am two. Here’s what I thought the other day- I have to love myself. Saying that makes my skin crawl in on itself. It makes me feel sick and weak and pathetic. I am apparently, horrible at loving me. Which is funny, because I’be been accused of selfishness too- what’s funny about that is that people on BOTH sides think of selfishness as self love. It is not. My other thought was, I need to forgive people. It’s hard to describe what that means to me. Forgiveness often parades through my head like a coming to the middle of the battlefield with the opposing force and hugging. Later we will all run off and have a grand bbq, sharing food and drink and laughter. We will be friends and full of love…Love. WTH is that?? Is love bbq’s? Where in the hell did I EVER get THAT idea? So, after having my forgiveness thought, I turned to a book written by Louise Hay, whom I literally hate to love, the queen of self love, called “you can heal your life”. This is what I read, and this is what I give to you with my best love I can muster;
      “All dis-ease comes from a state of unforgiveness. Whenever we are ill, we need to search our hearts to see who it is we need to forgive.
      The course in miracles says that, ‘all dis-ease comes from a state of unforgiveness’ and that ‘whenever we are ill, we need to look around to see who it is that we need to forgive.’
      I would add to that concept that the very person you find it hardest to forgive is the one YOU NEED TO LET GO OF THE MOST. Forgiveness means giving up, letting go. It has nothing to do with condoning behavior. It’s just letting the whole thing go. We do not have to know how to forgive. All we need to do is be willing to forgive. The universe will take care of the how.”

      Let me just say that in a horrible cliche way, we have to forgive ourselves first. Misty, I cry as I write this with such emotion and I think LOVE for us both- with such compassion for our pain and deadness, with such awe of our wanting to live and fix and be good, whole people- and I think if you read that above again- Forgiveness means giving up and letting go, you can see that we need to give up the fixing and let ourselves go.

      I leave you with my new mantra by Rilke-
      You see, I want a lot.
      Perhaps I want everything
      the darkness that comes with every infinite fall
      and the shivering blaze of every step up.

      So many live on and want nothing
      And are raised to the rank of prince
      By the slippery ease of their light judgments.

      But what you love to see are faces
      that do work and feel thirst.
      You love most of all those who need you
      as they need a crowbar or a hoe.

      You have not grown old, and it is not too late
      To dive into your increasing depths
      where life calmly gives out its own secret.

      ― Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours: Love Poems to God

  2. #3 by artzbaglady on September 14, 2014 - 11:51 am

    God loves you, have you noticed, God just refuses to “go away” I spend most every day. saying. “don’t struggle so hard, you are alone here, but God is with me 24/7. ❤
    "

    • #4 by foundedna on September 14, 2014 - 3:14 pm

      I notice…
      I love you too

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