Departed trail & Bitter trials.

“By the flowers of some dream, I can’t help but see you there at night arguing with me about everything we would argue and share. I would always stand stupidly before you crying, cause you were my second mother. There will be no love like yours in my life, no matter if I have a dozen wives and a hundred children at once, your existence was the greatest blessing in my life. There will be no hero like the one you were for us. No one.”

“You had a spirit too big, a heart too open, a sense of humor too free, and an ideal sense of motivation that was too high to match; still you came down to earth to be helpful. It’s not a far claim to say you left a mark with a deep impression on everyone who really got touched by your hand. Please be guarded from despair, desperation, and be raised out of the darkness. Let you be a prosperous seed given unto God.”

“Be an added notch of success, another angel reaching heaven. Be given a hammer to work us all as wood and stone as a guiding spirit. Deliverance I know is given on to my sister because she has personally taken trials that drew out the daily hours, drew out wretched feeling days, and given noticeable anxieties. She took them all with merit and conviction. She had a strength beyond the flesh or mind but that of a resilient spirit that endures.”

“I wish her leftover presence will never be erased from my life. Any tears that fall from her grace, I do pray be of joy as she watches over us. I pray you become an angel with four wings and the highest one with 3 halos inside each other. 

>Section:2

In the few days that were passing, calls went out to family and friends who were there near the beginning and those long distant that needed to know. Facebook was framed with my sister’s picture and tons of friends of hers commenting their own personal connection with her. I didn’t know these people or their stories but with what was all said and added to the same lines that my sister lived when she was alive. A marathon runner, a fisherman, huntsmen or huntswoman if wanted to be said that way. A friend of mine gave me his iPad so I could start picking up my writing again.

My mom would say to me that when a loved one passes; and you dream of them, don’t go with them if they ask you to come with them. If you do then you would pass in your sleep because they’re dead and calling you to heaven. This could be her telling me to stay and not go running away with her since she knew I wasn’t ready yet. My brothers would think that its a stupid superstition or something I shouldn’t care about. To be honest I did want that dream to at least talk with her or maybe I wanted to go with her:

“Is it wrong to want a dream out of the heart? A dream that will come sometime ahead but desired to be dreamt now. I wish for its approval from the angels of dreams, confession, and conviction. I had false idols in my heart but now I only hold you in my chest. Forgive me and bring this affirming dream I desire.”

“I wish to speak to her, my sister. Springing out my dream from afar. Spread it upon me like glory. Blessed. Generous. Bring your evangelized words on me and through your messengers. I don’t want to dream in a closed closet corner, away and shackled, nor kept in lonesome solitude. I’m not a lazy eater but my sister’s words of comfort that have since left my plate. I praise my mouth when I shouldn’t, rebuff, rebuke, and ready iron to sharpen my iron self so all is ready for the lord; I’m wicked and not bold as the faithful lion nor the lamb.”

“I’ve been led down misleading paths. Pathetic of me. Pitiful of me. A cricked crock at the harvest. I desire so much, of so little; but in your eyes it is beyond my merit to award as I’ve seen the things you have done despite being like an ocean sowed and the enemies taking it away in those waters.”

“I’m poor, many years of short wealth in finance as well as in Godly fear., Godly understanding, and Godly favor. Please save me on this land as it feels that it is giving way beneath me . Despair is like a leech with many mouths sucking my light, my hope, and my attempts to mourn and weep but thoughts come in at that venomous biting leech. The thoughts tell me I end my own pain and save myself with my own hand. Utensils look like safe and friendly tools of old habit scars.”

“Unsafe moments seem like opportune salvations from anguish. With tunnel vision on glory days or what they seem when in the sleep I wish to stay, the rough edges soften and the harsh light becomes a warm gold. I haven’t come to it enough to chase down the words and beat myself up. Grip me tight in my bed and never wake me again. With my mind not straight, I see myself distorted.”

“I dreamed not of wonderland, but of Gene Wilder’s imagination. Pure beauty and a unique inner machinations of the mind within a pure whimsy. Wishes seem to not matter as “wants” are feed by the breath. Come and set my worries aside in this pure and self serving world of wonderment. Look onto the world and back for a notable spin of tempting travel that defy the definitions of an oasis, of a paradise, or even the next best thing to heaven.”

“All things would be made right if I could fall asleep and meet my sister right here and now. No one can take my words and give them back without the pain and without the straight hand of the devil trying to control me. Even stepping onto the freeway is something I imagine sometimes. Yet, after months of studying the Lord’s word, I had a better worth of my life so I wrestled with these thoughts and images in my brain. Sleep would have to be a small part of my life and not the end I desire.”

“Though I turn to glance behind my mind; I see no figure but a face of a face that recoils my eyes, out of fear inside my mind. In my head the feeling of madness compiling a force against me. So compelling is this force, so violent is this force, so heavy and vocal is this force. It feels like a jagged tooth masked hollow at my spine. It tantalizes me with a simple minded task; end the noise with easy silence. An inspirational wickedness, further burrowing itself into my mind.”

“Now what am I to do but listen to it intently. Especially with every other voice seem to be pressed onto a muted orchestra. Down to the dark emotions of self sin. Plunge deep into myself; plunge deep through my hell, and deep into my skin.”

Yet I awake  

>section:3

The weeks had passed and I was stressed due to the upcoming Memorial for my sister. With covid still around and my family’s understanding of my sister’s wishes, we decided to cremate and have a Memorial party instead of a wake. We planned to have friends and distant family come in; Covid again had caused us to change things. We would get her two days later than planned so we had two weekend parties. The first was for distant family and close friends, while the second was for friends that couldn’t come the first time.

During the first time around, I wept hard due to the Memorial videos that were played. So many pictures of my sister alive and happy, so many signs that my sister lived here life well. I saw the sister I remembered and not the one I said goodbye to, I even heard her voice for the last time. We had the videos on a screen projector in the backyard since it had enough room to fit us. My brothers chose not to watch the videos cause it was too painful to watch and felt it was better to remember her happily and not cry over her sadly; I did wish I had chosen to be with them.

The person that clearly loved me most was now gone and I was reliving it. Like a fresh wound given a larger incision to make it breathe, or when skin is pulled over an amputee limb to close it. I had to go through it for my benefit because the more bottled my emotions the more likely they would come out when I don’t want them to. But the sorrowful pressure and stinging pain made me want to leave many times over. My niece was next to me and I comforted her as much as I could for my sake than hers.

I sat in the memories of my sister, I sat in her life that amounted to 15minutes of music and pictures; it felt so insulting to her. The biggest personality I knew in my life was shortened down to 15 minutes. Just that. I wept in pain cause I remembered more than what was on my back wall garage where the videos were projected onto. I remembered her dropping so many plates in the kitchen and her crying over breaking another one.

She dropped a hot iron on the carpet and burnt a print into it, not to mention from time to time she would scratch the bottom of her foot on that same burnt pattern; because it just felt so good. How she would come home and say “what’s up bitches,” loud enough to announce she was home. Or how she would pop her wrist in this weird way like she was a princess. Or even despite her having a habit of yelling at people and us, she didn’t like being yelled at which she would cry “why you yelling at me, I’m just a Prissy.” Prissy was a cute short hand for Priscilla.

So many quirks and stupid shit my sister would do that 15 minutes was just so small for me. But then again that’s the point of a memorial, to remember. I just so happened to remember other and more closer things. Besides the fact of her size, she did marathons. Loved hikes, camping, and hunting. I ain’t gonna lie she was a bit of a country girl when she was half Native and Mexican American like the rest of her siblings, even me.

She was a country girl and at that she was a Spanish momma too. Cooking food, yelling in Spanish, taking care of her family. While sitting down with my young niece; my nose felt like it was being pressed on; it was worse than someone trying to pop a black head or a deep pimple all over my nose. I felt my ears beating my heating pulse. After the videos ended and my brother in law began his speech, I gave in to my need to blow my nose. On the way, my brothers noticed me crying and tried to console me but I left to blow my nose.

In the bathroom pouring water into my hands and looking at the water eyed, grim lipped, red cheeked face; I just broke down with silence. Inside I wished to scream to which my throat tightened to keep me from doing. I crumbled into my arms to hold myself like a dog’s comfort blanket does, hug and relax. Only now do I realize how cold I was since touching hot water, that’s how long I was letting the water pour on for; and how long I was taking. Then a vision of what would happen if I killed myself.

My entire family was crying, shaken, as well as trying to hang on to the news that I was alive. Selfish I know, but that is the meaning I give my sisters passing. A view of my mother crying and yelling, my brother comforting my baby sisters, my eldest brother wanting to leave cause he couldn’t handle himself. These are the consequences that I can make my family revisit. All of this pours into my mind, into my skull which if wasn’t in the way, I would rip out my brain. All this burdens me as I ask what to do as a Christian.

How can I resolve this, how can I get over this mountain, just how. I don’t know, but I have to endure these aims of warfare that come about my mind, even my soul, even upon my religion; I just have to endure like I always have. I endured living in a motel by the freeway for over a year; I endured living in a rat and roach infested apartment for 3 years. Dealt with family disorder and dysfunctions like any other person, still I endured. That is the personal reasoning and relationship I have with God.

I endure what life gives or thrusts on me and God rewards me. At the precipice of defeat or despair, I awaken resolve to endure as it’s in my natural instinct against reason and logic. God placed in my core a filling desire to endure life and this battle for my life and soul will stand on this foundation against the senseless fright. Life ran me over and ran it the cup over with the desire for love.After I left the restroom, I laid on the couch to rest my headache from crying so much. Of course while laying there, I feel asleep. In brief sleep again and again, I dream the dreams of phantoms inside my head.