A Weeping Woman Going By

Tuesday 27th September, 2016

I sat at a café today, thumbing through notes, aching-all-the-while, my children sad at school, sometimes crying when I drop them off in the morning, in a foreign land, unable to understand their teacher, to connect, or feel safe. I’m grateful they’re at least in a class together. I’m very uncomfortable to separate at a glass door. It’s so forced and unnatural. I don’t understand why the school won’t let me into the classroom. It’s very difficult for me to accept. I don’t feel in control of the situation. 

I saw a weeping woman ride through the park on her bike yesterday, probably on her routine ride to work. She was talking on her phone, going at full speed, her tears dashed open by the force of wind, spread over her cheeks, made an illegible manuscript. I wondered what pain pushed her forward toward her fate like that with the open force of a wound. 

Now I recall the weeping woman, wet veins of crystal salt pouring down her face. At the time I noticed her, but couldn’t fathom her grief, now I access it.

After school Gabriel, Marlene and I played an imaginary game. In the game we were going through a forest fighting off ‘grangles’ and ‘minimals.’ We had lazer guns, bombs and special gases to destroy them. We were searching for the magic tree in the heart of the forest. We had a secret map that lit up in the air like a globe, which we had to follow. We had just found a missing part of the map that was of particular importance. We found our way to the tree, but it wasn’t the real one, instead there was a clue there. We took it – went through a secret passage in the wardrobe, to another forest. We set off in search of the real tree, which could divine our fates.

Marlene’s quest was to get the golden compass and find the golden tree. Gabriel’s was to journey to the land of the dead and find the tree of life. Mine was to sing a song so beautiful that the whole world is transformed by listening to it.