November 2012

Just Walking

Have you ever wanted to pick up your bag and walk away?
I did that one day. Just picked up my wallet and my important papers, and my backpack. I walked out the door, locked it and started walking. I almost threw my keys into a ditch, but changed my mind last minute. Maybe I had my cellphone, I don't know. It was a A nice Sunday morning. My dad wasn't home and my sister wasn't up. Not too cool, not too warm outside. I had on a long sleeved shirt, jean shorts, and tennis shoes. Probably not the most practical but whatever. I wasn't going on a camping trip. I was just leaving. Right then. Getting out, walking away. Stopped thinking. Stopped doing. Stopped being.
Honestly I'd thought about it for awhile, you know. Just walking out and walking away. Don't know what it as but apparently, Sunday was the day. I don't quite remember why but... maybe it was not being able to find my keys for the millionth time, looking for them for two hours straight, then seeing 'em sitting on the kitchen counter, pretty as you please. Maybe it was seeing the fourth email telling me my application for grad school wasn't complete. Maybe it was the look on my father's face when he saw the dishes piled in the sink; the ones no one had taken the initiative to wash the night before. Tight mouth, corners of his eyes turned down, shoulders slumped in disappointment--and me being the only one to see it. 
I don't make make friends. I don't talk to people don't look them in the eye. I... never thought I would be standing on the side of the rode, one of those people with a backpack. Just walking. Not hitchhiking because that isn't as safe as it used to be. Was it ever really? Truth is, I felt carved out from my pelvis to my breasts and I had nothing left to give. No one got that, I think, that I had poured everything out already and yet their hands were always cupped waving under my face and demanding more. I am carved out, don't you understand!? That's what I wanted to say, but I didn't know how to make my mouth work that way. The words would just sit in my chest, right under my breast bone and make a racket only I could hear. It made me mad, but what can you do? 
I started walking.

Words, words, words...

theometry: measurement or estimation of God
theomicrist: one who belittles God
theonomy: government or rule by God
theopantism: belief that God is the only reality
theopathy: emotional experience brought on by religious belief
theophagy: sacramental consumption of a god
theophany: manifestation or appearance of a god to people
theophilanthropism: love of both God and humanity
theophile: one who loves or is loved by God
theophobia: fear of God
theophorous: having the name of a god; derived from a god's name
theopneustic: divinely inspired
theopsychism: belief that the soul is of a divine nature
theorbo: double-necked lute
theosophy: immediate divine illumination or wisdom
theotechny: use of the gods as primary moving force in a poem or play

Words, words, words...

belief that the soul dies with the body
indicating or characteristic of death
narrative of a death
apparently dead; deathly; deadly
study of death and its customs
belief that one has been affected by death magic, and resulting illness
fear of death
view of or reflection upon death
gangrene; necrosis; state imitating death
funeral rites