From my daily pantoum practice. This one surprised me: what began as a meditation on sadness turned into a duet. A modulation. A dance of trust.
Pantoum 198/365
I dwelled too long in minors,
first majoring in it.
Graduated with honours,
now working on a PhD in modulation.
First majoring in it,
then inviting dissonance.
Now a PhD in modulation,
a doctorate in nuanced accompaniment.
Inviting dissonance,
graduated with honours.
A doctorate in nuanced accompaniment,
I dwelled too long in minors.
Yeah, I’ve dwelled too long in minors, a deep capacity for sadness, for depression, for feeling half empty when, in truth, my life has always brimmed full. Full of creativity to turn the map upside down. Full of hope that the next unexpected gift might answer my prayers of longing. Full of joy that counters the anchor of sorrow that so often pulls me under.
Too often, I’m tone deaf to joy.
Thirty-five years ago, my life was all major: rah-rah-rah, go-go-go, never stopping or making space for the kettle about to whistle to a boil inside. An endless string of strivings, reaching past limits, grasping at helium balloons of ego lifted good, better, best.
The spinning had taken hold, my life a tornado, and I was too afraid that if I stepped into the eye I would lose myself in the stillness and die. I needed that drive for more just to feel alive. So I kept moving, afraid that if I stopped, my past would find its mark.
What I tried to feed others, I knew was bullshit. I was anything but hap hap happy.
That’s why the crash surprised me. I had trained myself to swallow denial. Like so many, I had to meet myself where I was and begin the long journey home. I’m still on it. Still feeling, at times, the low hum of grief and despair beneath the surface.
Lately, those minor melodies have been creeping back. Joy feels cramped, living in close quarters with her downer roommates: Frustration, Exhaustion, and Intolerance. They moved in wearing disguises. Joy should have checked their references before letting them through the door.
There’s a knock.
Grief: Hi, I understand you have a room.
Joy: Only one left. I’m not sure you’re a fit.
Grief: I don’t take much space.
Joy: I can see that. You’re collapsed in on yourself, smoothed and rounded by years of tears, I bet.
Grief: I know. I have so many these days. That’s why I started hanging out with my buddies. I hear they’ve found a place with you.
Joy: Oh god, not that lot. What a bunch of rotters they are. Forget it, then.
She flips the sign in the window to NO VACANCY and pulls the doorknob toward her.
Grief (sticks foot in the door): Please! Please, hear me out.
Their eyes meet, and Joy catches a tiny glimpse of herself reflected in Grief’s tears.
Joy: Okay, I’ll give you a minute. Wait here. I’ll get a Kleenex. Don’t drip on my dance floor.
Grief waits at the threshold.
Joy: Here you go. Now, speak your peace.
Grief: I’m lost without a home. I’m independent and a hard worker. I want to stop drowning. I’m looking for a place to learn to live a more balanced life. I never felt safe growing up. Tears were the only thing allowed, and I got locked into a habit of them. I never truly felt anything else. I’m ready to live with you, Joy.
Joy: So you’re not really looking for a room, you’re looking for me.
Grief takes a big breath, spine straightens. Their eyes meet again.
Grief (quietly): Yes.
This time it’s Grief catching a glimpse of themselves in a tear rolling down Joy’s cheek.
Joy: I can’t believe I’m doing this, but come on in. There’s something about you I like: your honesty, and your courage to look me in the eye. Let’s try it for a week and see how we do.
Grief’s eyes widen, tears drying instantly.
Grief: Will you teach me to dance? You mentioned something about a dance floor.
Joy (looking down at the polished tile): Well, well. You’ve come to the right place. Take one step, and you’ll be standing on it.
Grief: Deal?
Joy: Deal.
They shake hands, their grip softening. Grief places a hand on Joy’s right shoulder. Joy’s arm circles the waist of Grief. The most beautiful music in the world begins.
Pantoum 199/365
They faced each other on the dance floor.
Joy offered a hand to Grief.
Their eyes met,
Hand on shoulder, arm around waist.
Joy offered a hand to Grief.
Clumsy and hungry.
Hand on shoulder, arm around waist.
“They’re playing our song.”
Clumsy and hungry,
Their eyes met.
“They’re playing our song.”
They faced each other on the dance floor.
Invitation:
What’s your key change right now - major or minor?
If you met your grief on the dance floor, would you take its hand?
What music is the most beautiful music in the world, to you?
See you next time for #200!!
P.S. If you want to browse through some of my writings visit The Pantoumery. What’s a pantoum, you say? I’m seeing how many I can write in a year. Learn how HERE
Also, The Well platform (prompts, classes and meeting links) is now available as mobile app!
