Where Do We Go From Here?

Winterdeep is upon us. The circle of life keeps turning, albeit a warped round, and though signs of the Anthropocalypse are everywhere to be seen, so is Winter, solstice, snow, hardy foods, raven, deer, stick and poke tattoos, wagon renovations, quite, still, simple and slow, mockorange ear gauges, dogwood accenting the blue/black/brown/white of the landscape, bobcat and the pets she offs with, horse antics and deep politics of the heart, mornings of play, music and coffee, steam, crackle and laughter until noon.

The circle of life keeps turning. Alexander and I are both now past our Saturn Returns and into our thirties. Our bodies show signs of it in different ways. Maybe its age, maybe its stress and grief, maybe both. This past year I threw out my back 5 times, both shoulders once, my neck twice, strained my Achilles tendon, endured persistent minor illness, stress sores, hemorrhoids... if you think that's T.M.I., well I just think its T.Fucking.M..
Learning to cope with the constant despair of anticipating the death of your child- After a whole year since his diagnosis, I'm keenly aware of the way this erodes at a person. I scan the landscape both internally and externally, starving for a new source of nourishment, somewhere I might find strength, even temporarily, to get by. Blessed are the normal, hectic days of parenting a two year-old! Drawing the hundredth horse, serving the thousandth dried apple, receiving the ten thousandth kiss. Walking into a silent room to find this:

And on the really hard days, as his strength wanes, when he sobs in anger and grief because he just wants to feed himself but can't, or realizes he can't put the caps on his markers anymore, or asks to dance like his friend does and insists he can do it on his two legs until I have to hold him up and show him he can't bear weight, nonetheless spin and jump, and we both fucking sob about it.... on those days I am so aware that what is broken cannot be fixed, the burden Rainan carries in his flesh will be his soul's temperance unto death, and even then, the burden Alex and I carry cannot be set down. Only Mama Earth has heart deep enough and arms wide enough to take us and our grief and all our hopes and dreams and hold them in her compassion without the depth and breadth of it all breaking Her.
I however have cracked, split open, fallen to pieces and now hover in this place that I have become. The sun warms, the tears run over like brooks, beings pass through, seasons, movements, feelings, but I am not whole as I once perceived myself. It feels like, as his body breaks down, wanes and withers, I struggle to continue with the very unfair, taken for granted reality of my body living in full bloom.
The School of Tragic Magic... where do we go from here? I am updating because I feel like I committed to this strand of perception, the notion that in all of this deep pearls dwelt, that we might be transformed in holy, wise ways. Maybe its still true. But here, in the deep dark of winter, that all seems so naive, far fetched, unattainable, like ripe cherries. You know in the marrow of your bones that they exist, but you also know there is no guarantee you will ever know them in the flesh of this life again.

For now, I will flow back into the currents of the season. I hope I ever have good reason to update this blog again.