I have been feeling really bad about “spamming” everyone’s FB wall with my sorrow and grief over Prince. I know that’s my smallness talking – it’s the part of me that is scared to take up space with my stuff.
(Interestingly, this is work I am doing in a life-changing program and the question he asks us to look at is “Are you willing to be seen? Are you willing to take up space?” Coincidence? Naw.)
My BIGNESS says that maybe my openly processing what’s going on with me helps someone else. I know I’ve been helped when others share their emotions, even if I don’t always understand it.
It’s a process. One step. It’s a process. One step.
Thank you, Mira Jacobs, for this. I needed to hear it.
I’ve been noticing a funny phenomenon of some of my friends being embarrassed by the intensity of their grief over Prince. I didn’t know him, they say. It’s not like we were friends. I’m sorry I’m so emotional. They act like they’ve co-opted their sadness, like they’re squatting in a feeling that isn’t theirs to inhabit. Which, I just want to say, as lovingly as possible, is total bullshit. Of course you knew him. Of course you are shattered. That’s the whole deal with art—it doesn’t give a shit about the boundaries of flesh. You never held Prince? So what. The way he spoke to you, the way he shaped you and transformed you into someone you couldn’t have imagined is just as real and vital as any relationship you will ever have. I mean listen, if we as a people need to apologize for something, I will gladly nominate global warming, or the Kardashians, or fat-free cream cheese. But loving and grieving a man we never touched? That is us at our very, very best. No apology necessary. – Mira Jacobs
From this article: Middle Aged White Lady Mourns Prince
“The power of joy in Prince’s music is almost as integral to it as its sexiness. When you sing along to “Baby, I’m a Star,” you believe it, you become a star, if only for a few minutes in your kitchen while cooking dinner. Prince made me connect with that sexy motherfucking star inside myself. And, better yet, he made that sexy, motherfucking star in me as accessible as the on/off switch to the stereo.”
Personal Reflection Part the thirty-seventh
I can tell I have come out of my grief haze as I’ve been singing and dancing around the house this morning, much to Duty’s chagrin. (He is not a fan of my “stellar” voice, let’s just say.)
Later today, I’m headed to the flotation tank for some grounding and a chat with Wee Spirit Animal. He’s been hanging around since Thursday afternoon when I sent him away because I could not deal with it at that point. Last night, I said “Alright, let’s do this” and we have been in communication.
Lest you think I am the only one who he came to, be disabused of that notion.
He told me on Thursday that he was with all of those who are grieving his transition so don’t be surprised if you hear about more of these kinds of things. Those on the other side can be everywhere at once which is pretty damn cool, if you ask me.
Maybe a new feature on my page: Journeys with my Wee Spirit Animal.
I live such a fascinating life, don’t I? Yes, I do.