Running in my mind.

Moonsteps on the waves.

The young woman wandered out from the cave where her family dwelt. Walking in Morning to midday to be by the sea. She longed for the sight and sound of the waves crashing against the rocks. Her blond hair, dirty an frazzled, and dirt on her face, she still looked beautiful with gentle features underneath her animal skins.
As she walked She walked to the cliffs looking out on the horizon to the far away land where the water met the sky.
She had told her father she would meet up with him later but she decided in stead to continue her walk by the sea. Walking and walking she walked for hours, the animals watched her unafraid the preadtors untempted to take her for food. as dusk came she saw figures in the haze. Ghosts and spirits, human animal, and elemental.
She spoke to them, and they spoke to her.
Conversing with the trees, the spirits of the rocks, and the oceans waves surrounded to her speaking with her as she walked until the moon rose high. Then a turtle Spirit called out to her from the palace steps of the moon.
It beckoned for her to come closer, to travel along the moonbeams to the moon palace.

"But how can I reach the Moon beams when they are so far away?" she said.
And the turtle told her to step on the shimmiering reflections of moonlight on the ocean.

"But I am so high up?" she said looking down from the cliff.

The turtle told her that she merely had to step forward and she would ride the winds lightly down, tip toeing onto the light like white dandelion seeds dancing on the wind. And this she did stepping forward and plunging into the icy waters from such a height, was knocked unconscious, the cold soon stoppping her heart and the ocean stealing away the heat of her body, life dissapating through the vastness.

And her spirit splashed through the water looking at the turtle that had tricked her and ran over the relected light towards the moon beams. But run as far as she could into the watery night she could see she would get no closer to the moon beams to walk to the moon and that her spirit would be lost in the darkness forever. She had already lost her life.

So the spirit of the girl turned back to the cliffs walking slowly terrified of what she now saw to be the tremendous power of the ocean, and reaching the rocks, souught refuge wthin the cliff itself. Sobbing, the crash of the waves on the rocks outside comforted her.

A New Beginning.

When Dawn came she decided not to return to the others though she knew they looked for her. She could not bear to see their sorrow because of her death. She was a spirit now and would have to live among them. And she did, learning the ways of the other rocks and wave sprits and plants that grew out of the side of the cliff. She took in the spirit of the sun and soon found her way up the cliff and among the tree spirits who had conversed with her when she was alive.

"What happened to your body?"
And she explained. They wept for her that her life had been tricked away, and inivted her into their circle, and let her into a seed to grow into a sappling and a tree herself. She lived as the other tree spirits among the forest.

Sadness

Suicide is sad especially when so young. Especially when those behind feel they could have prevented a tragedy. But haven't we all been in that place? but some can come back from it and some decide to go through with it. To end. To embrace and ending, an infinity, a great beyond. To cease to exist or start existing differently.
The belief that it is a mortal sin, I think is more to help prevent the act, but even in the religions where this is strongly believed suicide exists still.
So sad, I ramble for my own therapy and not for others to read.
Some rave allowed, I write. It helps me move on healthily. Writing and music and meditation were my treatment for myself when having thoughts of ending my life. It takes the sadness and puts it out externally. And it is because I have these things that I do not have to hold them soley inside which would festter and pressuraize making me moree able to do something like suicide. So I understand how someone who does not do these actcities and who also has a more stressful life than I and who also tends to hold there tongue instead of yelling out as I often do would carry through with the suicide.
I cannot believe the young girl is gone. I know too that when I first met her I was not as kind as I could have been because It was hard for me to get along with her. But when I saw she had problems, I wanted to talk to her but also felt it was not my place. But now she is dead and gone. Gone. and this is not the first time I was to cowardly to speak up. Not that I could have necessarily prevented anything, but I speak awkwardly and was afraid to speak up. I showed her some meditation stuff and wanted to talk to her about bringing her to a church or a temple or anything. The opiate of the masses has its uses in preventing suicide and alleviating deppression throuh a support group and a thing to believe in the heart if not wholly in the mind. But I was told as it is a sticky situation not to bring it up. And it was, and had I brought it up and she still committed suicide most Likely my intervention would be blamed for being the cause. But now that she is dead it is easy to second guess decisions and to fear future decisions to speak or not to speak, to help or to let lay a situation, For what of those that are still alive? Are they not more fragile now than before? and does not this suicide, this option, seem more real than it was before? Talking helps or hurts? I would like to help others who feel this weight I guess because I was not able to help Vivian.
I write and write and feel slightly better but I steal feel the need to pour out the words in stream of consciousness to pour out what it is that is in me. No longer even a palpable thought. Just keep writing as if it were a prayer, as if it were an ability, to communicate with the dead beyond, Writing and writing would some one sneak in and write back? Jeeep writing to be away with these piut in my stomach and why would this effect me as I was not that close to he. But i knew her. Yes I knew her and I did have a few good conversations sort of conversations, with her. And though I was not as noce as I could have been perhaps I had tried and at the end we were something of freinds I thought, Though I know she felt that she would not be able to come to me with a problem. She was probably afraid of me.
After all I am an angry person, and she had seen me yell at other people.
SO she owuld not have gcome to me. And I knew I was not necesarrily the person to come to her But what of it? would it not have been better than this? If I had stiumbled through by helping awkwardky this is the worst possible outcome. Better if she ran away or of anything else happened than this. This is the worst. Or maybe not the worst but is certainly among the worst. It is in that category of terrible tragedies as oposeed to somehing that would be merely unpleasant.
Better a divorce or anything. In truth even fi after parting ways years later she had chosen this option, that would be a better situation than now. Because now it is our fault even if you can argue that it was not preventable of course it is our fault, even if there was nohing we could do about it. Eeven if we are not to be blamed. Fault is associated and belongs to us and stays with us like a ghost in and of itself. The ghost of Fault. The ghost of guilt. But Now I must take care of my son, because that is my true responsibility ion frint of me right now.