May 11, 2015 by jeliwobble
Yesterday was Mother’s Day and my family brought me gifts in bed. Thoughtful little poems:
Painted finger prints:
Chocolates, fudge, flowers and a book:
Neil Gaiman’s new book.
It was a little prescient of my eldest daughter and Mr Gaiman, really. The book is a collection of ‘disturbances’. Things that are genuinely disturbing such as little fantasy horror vignettes, of course, but also those things that carry an undercurrent of horror in most people’s reality. Our triggers.
Later in the day, after a pretty perfect day, one of my own was hit full on, without mercy from my psyche. Which, in turn, hit my husband’s main one full on, without mercy from his.
You’ll get fat if you eat that.
You’ll never be good enough, no matter how hard you try.
It doesn’t really matter how beautiful the day was that one experienced, if the full on horror of one’s worst fears pierces one’s heart unexpectedly.
In the gentleness of the sea of reflection, one must also realise that the perfection of the day would be nothing without the light and shade of living, and all of us, every single one of us, carry our own, private, disturbances that lie in wait for us, giving our lives untold shadows that throw life’s glory into transcendent relief.