Widow Energy~

Dark energy.

It makes one think of vampires and shadows and the like. 

Shrouds. Winding cloth. Long cloaks that one swirls dramatically over the shoulder.

I've been told that I carry dark energy.

The imagery that came to mind when I was told that is Pigpen, from Peanuts.

You know, the little boy who wanders through the cartoon squares with a dark cloud enveloping him.

Over and around him.  

Maybe I do carry dark energy around me.

Maybe it envelops me.

Honestly, that's been my perception of myself for all of the 177, 292, 800 seconds since my world evaporated.

I don't deny that darkness.

However, I don't construe it as it was directed towards me.

It isn't a curse, to me.

I kind of see it more as a vapor.

Wispy.

With a whole lot of light misting and dancing over it and through it, peaking through, shining brightly.

Of course, the person who said this to me doesn't know this particular darkness.

Widowhood, I mean.

There are many distillations of darkness in a person's life.

Not all come from the grief resulting from death.

The accusation didn't disturb me.

And it is, as I said, how I percieve myself.

It isn't, however, the perception of many others.

They tell me of the light that shines from me. 

The Love that radiates from me.

The purpose that shows itself in my body language.

I've long ago relinquished the desire of convincing anyone of anything.

Whatevs, right?

It is a curiosity, though, that someone might lob such words at me. 

As if I'd take offense.

Jesus. 

My husband is dead. Living with that makes everything else fairly trivial, in my book.

Especially the opinions of others.

Also, I kind of take pride in having dark energy.

I strive to live a life filled with Love and lightness, whatever goes on internally, so it's a bit refreshing to contemplate the dark side of me.

And, most especially, what it says to me, about this person, is that the vision they have of me is limited in so many ways. Their own vision is dark, if all they see of me is darkness.

Yes, I speak of grief. I write about Chuck and this widowed life and the secondary losses I deal with on a daily basis. But what their heart doesn't allow them to see is that all of these things are really....just...Love.

His eyes see darkness. Mine see Love. 

And mine are the only ones that count, as far as I'm concerned.

Ah, well.

It makes me think...I've got to up my game with this widow shit. Go more dramatic black hat and veil. 

Kind of in it's time to bring out the flying monkeys way.

Might as well, right?

 


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