You will find two more sets of journal entries and poetry here: "FORGIVENESS" and "THE I"

November 13, 2001

            I wish for so many things, especially for you to be with me, for you to come back to me, and for me to join you.  I wish I could turn back the clock so that we could have another chance to get it right, to love and support each other fully and completely.  A chance to be and create together without shoulds and coulds, with more fun and play, just like children playing on a sunny beach.  Would you have stayed then?  I need to feel the comfort of your presence.  I need answers.  I still don't know the reason I'm here and you are gone.  I cannot hear you.  Can you hear me?  If you can hear me, can you forgive me for not loving you enough?  For loving you too much?

            I feel like such a fraud.  Here I'm criticizing others, making them feel embarrassed because I show my grief or whatever you may call it.  My presence makes them feel uncomfortable.  Probably because I remind them of what could be or what could have been.  And also because now I'm no longer a couple-so who am I for others?  My vulnerability causes fear and uncertainty for others and also, probably most importantly, for me even though I can't tell others how I feel about it all.  And yet, the little energy I can muster is taken up by scribbling in this journal that's filled with gibberish about myself-nothing lofty, nothing endearing, entirely revealing, shallow.  I hate myself for all the whining, doubts and questions; for putting me in the centre of your death-shouldn't it be all about you instead of me?  How dare I belittle you in such a way!  You deserve so much more.

November 30, 2001

            The little ant always scurries around and works hard to protect the queen.  She sacrifices herself, her identity for the sake of the colony, living under the illusion of love and support.  Now she's lost it all.  Nothing remains, no safe haven.  Killer ants are looming, yet she has nowhere to go.  The end?

            Wait, not true!  What about going inside?  Going inside is the only thing left to do and yet, she is frightened, mortified, scared.  What will she find?  She longs to leave, to flee, to part - part from what was, flee from what is, and leave what is no more.  Despite herself, she continues to delve into all the attachments to what was and what is no more - how strange, how bizarre and contradictory.  At every turn, she tumbles over what once was.  All the familiar pointers remind her of what has now become meaningless, depriving her of her usual sense of orientation.  All the clues of what to do, where to go, and what to expect now confuse and disturb her innermost being, rendering her useless, making her feel inept to the core.  She cannot relate to the world around her and the world no longer knows how to relate to her.  She's separate and alone, cut off from the colony, from the illusion of love and support, from all that once was ordinary, mundane, and intimately known.  Mystified, shocked, terrified, she descends into a hollow stem.

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