Aloha Ke Akua


After your death, I still couldn’t pick up the phone.
Quiet disbelief,
Shooting text messages into cold, thin air.
Nahko and the Medicine for the People rang,
As inhaled your death,
My lungs froze.
I don’t listen to them, anymore.
But I’ll never be as cold,
As I was before your passing.

Echoes traveling, outstretched.
Making home in the past,
Neighboring that song you used to sing.
There were plenty.
Lyrics conveying messages.
Lyrics bringing me back to you,
While I google how long it takes a corpse to decompose.
Are you comfortable in that coffin?
Quiet conditioning,
Shouting messages into the cold, dark earth.

My emotional pain equivalent to your physical.
Lyrics conveying messages.
Lyrics bringing me back…
I promise,
I’m not forgetting you.

Because Oversharing- It’s What I Do

Sandy beach. The air is warm and damp.

I walk over to a descending tunnel. The entrance is square and made up of light tan colored bricks. The ways in which the bricks connect and lay atop one another are ridged, but the outside texture is smooth.

I enter. The cave is large, very well lit. The walls are made of large, uneven stone- as if man plowed through here one day using powerful tools with the intent to carve this very pathway. Areas of abstract flowers are present throughout these walls. It is also warm and damp here.

As I walk along, interconnecting images of bright neon purples and yellows swirl around before me.

I reach a large room. From the doorway, there are tiny windows to the left, right, and ahead of me. Through them, I see various clutter in other rooms. From where I am, there is no visible entry or door leading to these rooms. I rest in this doorway a while, scanning the room a few times.

Also to the left of me is a staircase made up of about 10 small stairs. It leads to a broad, circular archway, which leads to another room. I go over to the staircase, sit down on about the 2nd or 3rd step. Here I remain still, experience the purples and yellows once more.

Then I travel up the staircase and pause sideways by the door, facing a wall in front of me made up of the same material as was the entrance to this tunnel. Not yet peering through the door, I examine my expectations for what’s beyond it. All I see in my minds eye is a room with nothing in it, empty and radiating a brightly colored white light.

I turn and go through the door. I find a deep teal-blue ocean. Hundreds of flowing ripples. There is absolutely no land, only outstretched ocean. A large and beautiful sun straight ahead of me, although it is not blinding. The sky is a mix of purples, yellows, and pinks. The temperature is cool here, comfortable.

This room has no walls. It really isn’t a room at all.

I stand here, alone, in awe for a few moments. Then others begin to join me.  Friends, close friends, acquaintances, strangers, and all those in between- come to this water’s edge to stand alongside me. All come in a sort of trance-like state, all consumed by the beauty of what lie ahead of them.

They are not here because of me, had no intention of meeting me here. They just arrived. Perhaps because something outside yet within themselves drew them here, just as it did me.

The Only Way Out… Is Through.

Of all my works, there is one, and only one, I cannot go near. It’s titled, “Hate My Shame.” Previously, “Hate My Shame, Hate Myself.”

One day I braved it. Took my time writing it out, and then sat there absorbed in it. Looking for areas that required correction. Remembering the feelings which triggered my PTSD and searching for connection.

Searching for connection, not in the sense that I didn’t know the answers, because I wholeheartedly knew what sparked it. “It” being the piece, as well as the PTSD. What I didn’t know, was how to deal with it. I still don’t know.

Frankly, I don’t know enough about PTSD or how to cope with/overcome it in general, because I refuse to deal with it.

I leave it on my computer’s desktop, staring at me… haunting me… fucking grinding at me. I can’t open the file.

It’s one of the main things, if not the only thing, that holds me back… but I can never bring myself to open that God damn file.

For years I have been at a loss. Unsure of what to do, how to face it, how to deal with it.  But the fact of the matter is this:

The only way out is through.

Open the damn file and deal with your shit, Zielinski!

*Side note/disclaimer: What I have stated above is quite personal. The methods that work (they’re really not working) for me, may not work for everyone (let’s be real, they work for no one). I would recommend speaking with a professional (which I have not done in many many years) before taking anything I say or do as sound advice. Peace 😉