You can see trauma. It has a shape and color and surrounds your walks and your resting moments.  Trauma is thought and pain, stone letters buried in the day … deep in the marrow and it’s impossible to cut away as you fall apart.

Emotional and physical trauma have pretty much the same consequences.  The range runs from suicide all the way to a totally peaceful and humane existence, god-like almost.  Yet in the main, it’s a hopeless condition, floating with depression and anxiety like ice breaking and sliding into the sea.   Yes, pulled by the moon on those singular nights … your bed unending, white without form and you can feel your insides moving around as you try to hide the past from the fellow passenger at your side … are you sick, no I’m fine, what time is it, I don’t know, almost dawn … the sound of a bird.

Wounds have names, histories and they fragment in your mind and settle down upon your body. Why me, you ask and the answer is always the same … there is no answer.  Don’t turn your mouth down, that realization is the bitterness that causes fools to ignore you, so it has some value after all, some drop of grace.

You’d like to be god-like, but the path is unknown to you.  There’s no map to finding enlightenment with gold walls like sheer waterfalls.   To be a god is to be a bird, a way of living at high altitude, without words, only a reading of the weather and signs upon the ground.

Unfairness is the jelly of trauma and it seeps out the pores of your skin and stains your clothes and new couch.   You have shopped for a cleanser, a chemical remover and you find yourself on bridges and inside emergency wards where the prices are high and there’s a no return policy muttered by nurses with neon lips.  Sales are final in your life and you accept everything for now … for now anyway … are you sick, no, then why are you sniffling, I don’t know, it must be allergies, the flowers are in bloom … and everything is quiet as you finally fall asleep to dream of ice floes somewhere to the north and the seals and bears watch you like dying friends and you listen to their sounds as if they were stone tablets breaking inside your mind.





6 thoughts on “Trauma

  1. This brings to mind the therapist’s diagnosis of the state of our nation’s mindset and well being as a result of the recent bullshit that is constantly shoveled our direction by this hopeless buffoon .

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Consider my philosophical tank topped for the month. Thanks Duke. AM
    Elsewhere, a fellow blogger mentioned creating his sand mandala. In fact, every paragraph here I find is a spiral sprinkled in ocher, crimson, azure granules, precisely placed, the slightest breeze to erase the thought forever.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. A pretty apt description of P.T.S.D. with which I can readily identify. I certainly can be palpable at times, and in my case, it chases people away all too often. It’s too much about the intensity, I think. Yes, the trauma of the mind is more permitting than the trauma of the flesh.

    The flesh heals over and just leaves scars of the skin, but the scars of the mind damage the cells we need for normal functioning. It is harder to live with. But we are survivors, Duke, don’t forget.

    Liked by 1 person

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