Estranged.

Estranged.
Strange.
It is more than being strange or feeling strange, it is about feeling something removed, out of place or missing. Unhinged. Unpinned. Undermined. Unbelieveable how the anima can, in one moment, be there, and in another moment be gone—to nowhere.
Something is strange. Something is missing. The tangible sensation of something out of place it biting. But what it is, or where it went is, at this moment, unthinkable. Like the souring of milk. It happens subtely, but once it has passed it is undeniable.
So my anima has slipped off, like a sheet in the night and this morning I rolled over without pulling back over me. I left the house bare and immediately noticed the difference, without knowing the cause. It is evening, as it always is when I settle down to write, and I have returned to look for what has been lost. But without knowing its dimensions, shape, color or origin, it is difficult to begin searching for it. I am also not sure where or when exactly I lost it. Yet I assume I must have lost it all at once; or at least that is what I am hoping. I fear any alternative—that maybe I have been letting it go, bit by bit, leaving fragments of myself, threads to blow in the gusts of wind and then get tangled on the bushes as I walk by. And so intent on my destination, or the act of getting there, or simply the ideas bouncing like atoms in my head, that I simply didn’t notice.
Like a gingerbread trail. Maybe I have been leaving myself a path backwards, just now to turn and see the crow who has been following me cleaning up my crumbs.
I am not cold, like my sheets have fallen off. I am not humgry as if I have run out of bread. But there is a bare, naked feeling. Voulnerable and imposible to cover, hide or envelop.
There is an empty feeling. It sounds better in spanish, because that is truly how I feel- vacio. Like my stiching has come out, like I am fraying. Like I am only a shell and the light from within shines somewhere else. Yes. Like a lantern, without the candle.
Nothing has changed. No more than usual. Everything has changed and continues to do so. That is always. But the change hasn’t changed. The change just keeps on changing and usually I do to, right along in step with the times.
But something has slipped off.
I want to find it, but I am not sure I wan to look for it.
Maybe this is what it means to be estranged.