Strange Fruit

I do not know where to begin except to say that life often bares strange fruit.   At the end of the silent retreat I found myself wanting to delve deeper into the inner sphere of existence, as I came to have glimpses of something beyond the known self. From this place it became impossible to write or think. Gone were the hungry thoughts desperate for a place in the world of meaning.   Into this inner universe, the words "Mum died" fell like a great boulder, exploding into unintelligible sound.  I asked my sister to repeat her words, "Mum died" she replied. Oh I said as if commenting on the weather.

The words, cold and hard as steel, cut into the soft flesh of me and I watched with detachment as blood gushed out of the wound.   With nothing to hold onto, I must wrestle with this monstrous apparition named death.  A mothers hands never to be felt again.  A mothers voice never to be heard again. A mothers love never to be tasted again.  All that she embodied, no more present, relegated to the catacombs of memory.   I find myself swimming where there is no water.  Arms flailing against the surface air, as I gasp for breath.  Nothing has prepared me for this!  And so the story, abruptly ends here, in Tiruvannamalai with the sudden and unexpected death of my mother.