Author Archives: blaak sheep

The past few days I’ve been feeling a heavy weight in the pit of my stomach, like someone just died.

Grief has a way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it. You think you’re fine and all is well, and then bam, it is like liquid cement being siphoned into your veins. You have to accept it as part of your life, not fight it, and roll with the waves that crash onto the shore of your being. Let the water trickle and flow over your skin and limbs, stirring the weight into your soul to become who you are now.

When she left me that day, a part of her became a leaden force inside me. Some days it wears me down, when it first hits me, like lifting weights and feeling the pain in your muscles, but then after while it builds me up and makes me powerful, bolder, braver, nourishing me.

I surround myself with things that remind me of her: pink carnations, strawberries on toast, classical music playing on the radio, a book on a rainy day – these are things which bring me comfort and live out her legacy, which is what grief is meant to do – to carry you.

Grief has a way of benefiting if you let it; it is not a burden, but rather a gift, the gift of the gratitude of life. It reminds me that she loves me.

I love the enchantment of a rare snowfall. While some people see it as black magic, I see it as the essence of purity. All the drab, blackened trees wear dollops of white mounds, the browned shrubs alive with diamond-encrusted tips. The earth becomes hardened yet soft with the feathery flakes that become one stretched milky palette of fresh paint that covers all flaws.

People on the streets are smiling, laughing even as they throw snowballs at each other and sculpt rounded caricatures and forts. Children (and adults) are delighted to toboggan down steep hills, the entire community can be seen on the hill’s top, having conversations and competitions.

I know driving is no fun, but when you’re not on wheels, it’s a treat for all the senses. The scent of the crisp air, the reverent hush that surrounds everything, the reflection of the sunbeams against the powdery surface, crystals on your tongue, Winter’s cold breath on your face soothes and awakens like a fresh sprig of mint. I just see the beauty of it all until I slip on a patch of ice lurking on the sidewalk.

The rain has been falling non-stop for the past three days, but I don’t mind. I love the sound of rain drops, their constant, many little footsteps on my roof calm my soul. The clear pebbles that cling to my window pane are like tiny crystal balls that see a future of vivid green fields and blooming flowers – a vision of hope in this dreary world.

Some people see rain as a metaphor for difficult times. Sometimes the rain is hard and the wind is strong, blowing your umbrella straight up and pummeling you with sheets of water. Rain, like life, can show no mercy and offer only coldness.

My life certainly hasn’t been easy, it continues to provide its challenges almost daily. But its so important to see the beauty in the storm.

The lightning flashing in the sky revealing the dramatic shapes of the blackened clouds that go white for one second, the thunder shaking the foundations of your home, the wind screaming through your chimney and walls. They all share a beauty only few can see. They remind you of how alive you are. How fragile you are.

My mother used to say, “There is no beauty without pain.” This couldn’t be more true. Pain is beautiful when you see the final results. It alarms you that something is wrong and you get it examined, and sometimes you can fix it, and when the pain is gone, you feel so free and … beautiful.

Sometimes the pain seems never ending. But it makes you appreciate more in life, the little things, the time you can get out of bed, step over that obstacle without wincing, to be thankful you can actually see a sunrise and not just blackness. To all the people who are still able to see the beauty in life despite their pain. To make pain a reflection of your pulchritude and not of despair.

If you’re in pain, let it direct you to beauty. The smell of a rose, the laughter of a baby, a cat’s purr, a stupendous sunset, a vivacious ocean, the softness of a smile. Let the beauty of the earth ease this pain and soothe your wounds. Let the rain that descends on you cleanse and refresh for it will soon bring a brighter day. In the meantime, enjoy the canvas of the storm, smell the scents of water and savour the life it is sustaining. Yours.

I think my favourite sound is that of a train’s horn in the far distance at 2 am, when all is dark and quiet, and its haunting call reminds me I am not the only one awake. There are few in the houses of many that can’t succumb to sleep’s mercy at that hour, and it’s nice to know there is a mutual voice out there.

I can just see the engineer, pulling the horn’s cord to call out to those who are awake, a voice not just to alert, but to comfort and speak to those who are afraid for waking those around them. He is alone in the car just like those who feel alone in their beds, awake, unsleeping.

This reminds me of the scene in the movie The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, where he is in the hotel and can’t sleep. He rises and descends into the hotel’s kitchen to make tea, and speaks of listening to and watching his loved ones asleep in their beds while he is awake, protecting them so to speak.

Why do we stay awake? Why can’t we sleep along with everyone else? Thoughts persevere, creativity takes over, our energy cannot rest. There is something about being awake when everyone else is sleeping, the persistent peace, the bellowing quiet while listening to the subtle sounds you would not normally hear during the day. Something about having the place to yourself without interruptions. Something about listening to their rhythmic breathing that consoles and soothes your spirit.

There is a whole other world out there, one that is desperately yearning to be heard yet wanting silence at the same time. We love the silence yet want company from a distance. It’s hard to explain to those who hate the darkness.

3Rebecca Barnes, Dana Bidnall and 1 other3 Comments

Sitting here sweating.
My eyelids drooping.
The heat overcoming all my senses.
I am melting.
I am melting
into a pool of liquid human flesh,
my bones turning into syrup.
But I am not the only one melting.
The earth screams with vengeance,
“I’m too hot!
Stop with the exhausts, the fumes, the gasses!
I am not betraying you.
You have betrayed me by poisoning me
every single day of our lives.
I am only giving back to you
what you gave to me.
Misery, discomfort, scalding vapours that dissolve
all life around me.
The trees have been burning for years
but still you did not stop.
What do you expect after years of wounded skies?
I hurl my hot anger at you
for exploiting me
absorbing my air
and claiming it as your own.
Suffer now, my children.
There may still be time
to reconcile with me.
But until then,
you will melt.”