Friday, November 11, 2011
Missed
Eugene, you flew away and left my saddle here, instead of taking it back to the stables. As I stare at it, I think to myself, how I misjudged our relationship. In the beginning, I thought you were so proper and guarded. Now all I see is the best thing that ever happened to me. You balance me, keep me grounded when I am too dizzy to fly and take me to great heights when I need to be swept away. You are the ocean and the stars and the sun. Thank you for being my friend.
The Taking of Spades
Eugene here. The Girl has receded into the fortress walls, hoping to diminish shame and hide for a while in the starkness of The Grey. Sometimes the best thing to do when a war is being waged within is to withhold action until the storm passes.
She spoke tonight of the colors of her youth. How her first memory was of putrid violet-brown flying insects that invaded her unhappy home... but how her second memory was of a paintbrush in her hand and images drawn with a child's innocence and wonder. I listened without judgment, as she steadied herself against a large painted canvas. I dug in my hooves and stowed my wings. I knew what to expect, I'd seen this before...
You see, I've been so busy with Race Training and new recruits that I have not had as much time to check in with The Girl. Imagine my dismay, when I saw her tonight: a new smoldering fire in the green sparkle of her eyes and fresh sadness heavy on her shoulders. She was glowing with familiar emotion but also something that I am not sure I recognize still... might have been excitement and passion, but partly it seemed shame and anger. She talked of missed opportunities, chances never taken, risks avoided and of confidence feigned. I tried to convince her to take flight with me, that a moonlight adventure would restore her spirits, but she gracefully declined, citing the paint on her hands and feet. Then she started singing one of her favorite songs..."Where I live, there's this lady who walks everywhere on her hands... doesn't trust where her feet want to take her..." I remained silent. I simply didn't know what to say. She then spread a deck of cards on the floor, and attempted to guess the location of the Spades.
After watching her feverishly flip cards for a while, The Girl asked me leave her alone. She was pleasant enough in her request that I knew she just wasn't quite ready to fly. However, it would seem that I need to clear my calendar for the foreseeable future to tend to this new chapter of the The Girl's life. The last time I saw The Girl in this Frame of Mind, she attempted to leap from the saddle to the sun.
She spoke tonight of the colors of her youth. How her first memory was of putrid violet-brown flying insects that invaded her unhappy home... but how her second memory was of a paintbrush in her hand and images drawn with a child's innocence and wonder. I listened without judgment, as she steadied herself against a large painted canvas. I dug in my hooves and stowed my wings. I knew what to expect, I'd seen this before...
You see, I've been so busy with Race Training and new recruits that I have not had as much time to check in with The Girl. Imagine my dismay, when I saw her tonight: a new smoldering fire in the green sparkle of her eyes and fresh sadness heavy on her shoulders. She was glowing with familiar emotion but also something that I am not sure I recognize still... might have been excitement and passion, but partly it seemed shame and anger. She talked of missed opportunities, chances never taken, risks avoided and of confidence feigned. I tried to convince her to take flight with me, that a moonlight adventure would restore her spirits, but she gracefully declined, citing the paint on her hands and feet. Then she started singing one of her favorite songs..."Where I live, there's this lady who walks everywhere on her hands... doesn't trust where her feet want to take her..." I remained silent. I simply didn't know what to say. She then spread a deck of cards on the floor, and attempted to guess the location of the Spades.
After watching her feverishly flip cards for a while, The Girl asked me leave her alone. She was pleasant enough in her request that I knew she just wasn't quite ready to fly. However, it would seem that I need to clear my calendar for the foreseeable future to tend to this new chapter of the The Girl's life. The last time I saw The Girl in this Frame of Mind, she attempted to leap from the saddle to the sun.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Regressional
Let's go back a bit. Long before the airing of grievance. Before she defined my future, and before he left this earth. Before I pressed my hand against dusty rock walls and traced the origin of my being.
There was the energy that amassed and came bursting forth. There were shining lights across the sky, trailed by pink ribbons and golden flecks of sun that rained down like Midas glitter on our heads. And he held me in his arms... her dark presence shaking the earth beneath us both as I clung to him for safety. Rockets were silent in the wake of the roar of her envy. As long as he was alive I was safe, and I traveled to the ends of the earth, holding tight to those sky-tossed ribbons and my skin glowing in the golden flames. And she chased me, haunted me, and invaded every crevice and dream I ever had. Pulling me away from the ocean, pulling me down into the pit of her feigned foreign accents, dime-store veils and finger cymbals. She swirled there, and I learned to accept that victims would often enter the pit and find a friend in me.
So I climbed out, my ribbons tattered and heavy with caked red clay... clawing at the walls and calling his name. She silenced him like she silenced the rockets. All hail the witch of the unending woe-is-me game.
It wasn't until many, many years later that I realized that while I was in the pit, she carved a hole in me. A hole where others would crawl into and hide, seeking shelter and release from their own obligations and choices. I excavated intruders and cauterized the wound. I sewed protective coverings over the cavity. I did all I could to protect myself, and I escaped.
But every now and then, I forget that the wound never heals, and that I am as fragile in your hands as I was in hers. His lessons were cut short, and he was a loving, peaceful man. He wasn't of the land, but of the sea, and the only legacy he offered me... the only peaceful, invulnerable retreat he disclosed to me... was the ocean. She cannot reach me there, and neither can you.
So make your own choices, feed your own dreams, succumb to your own fears, wallow in your failures and rejoice in your own successes.
I am out to sea.
Officially.
There was the energy that amassed and came bursting forth. There were shining lights across the sky, trailed by pink ribbons and golden flecks of sun that rained down like Midas glitter on our heads. And he held me in his arms... her dark presence shaking the earth beneath us both as I clung to him for safety. Rockets were silent in the wake of the roar of her envy. As long as he was alive I was safe, and I traveled to the ends of the earth, holding tight to those sky-tossed ribbons and my skin glowing in the golden flames. And she chased me, haunted me, and invaded every crevice and dream I ever had. Pulling me away from the ocean, pulling me down into the pit of her feigned foreign accents, dime-store veils and finger cymbals. She swirled there, and I learned to accept that victims would often enter the pit and find a friend in me.
So I climbed out, my ribbons tattered and heavy with caked red clay... clawing at the walls and calling his name. She silenced him like she silenced the rockets. All hail the witch of the unending woe-is-me game.
It wasn't until many, many years later that I realized that while I was in the pit, she carved a hole in me. A hole where others would crawl into and hide, seeking shelter and release from their own obligations and choices. I excavated intruders and cauterized the wound. I sewed protective coverings over the cavity. I did all I could to protect myself, and I escaped.
But every now and then, I forget that the wound never heals, and that I am as fragile in your hands as I was in hers. His lessons were cut short, and he was a loving, peaceful man. He wasn't of the land, but of the sea, and the only legacy he offered me... the only peaceful, invulnerable retreat he disclosed to me... was the ocean. She cannot reach me there, and neither can you.
So make your own choices, feed your own dreams, succumb to your own fears, wallow in your failures and rejoice in your own successes.
I am out to sea.
Officially.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
I'm setting it down on dry earth and also in words because I have them. I have them to reach and to bombard. I have them to ache and writhe and burst forth.
Dreams can so often be the beautiful illustration of something less than beautiful in our daily lives. Recently I've been trampled by messages from my brain, from my heart, from my soul... the messages are clear and have me crippled with the truth. It can be such a burden when you have no way to act... no way to escape.
These little reprieves will only get me so far. These little hideaway "islands" for evading the giant are just stepping stones in my liberation. I am surprised my dreams have not, as of late, included a certain frame shop in my history of home sweet homes. No need to dream of it, I suppose, when the image arises almost daily. Frames, working with my hands, working with art. Just about the time I feel I need to understand something about my future my mind and heart leap toward this memorable sweet spot. It's a good thing Eugene had a race conference this evening, or he'd be giving me a very disapproving look right now. Something about grass being greener, and so on.
Just as we crawl and then walk and then crawl again, we always return to where we started. Like the universe collapsing in on itself, we run so far away to wind up right back where we started, a race to return to ourselves. And every day that I live and breathe and rejoice and lament, I feel my personal Big Crunch looming just ahead, and I hold tighter and tighter waiting for just the right time to let go.
Dreams can so often be the beautiful illustration of something less than beautiful in our daily lives. Recently I've been trampled by messages from my brain, from my heart, from my soul... the messages are clear and have me crippled with the truth. It can be such a burden when you have no way to act... no way to escape.
These little reprieves will only get me so far. These little hideaway "islands" for evading the giant are just stepping stones in my liberation. I am surprised my dreams have not, as of late, included a certain frame shop in my history of home sweet homes. No need to dream of it, I suppose, when the image arises almost daily. Frames, working with my hands, working with art. Just about the time I feel I need to understand something about my future my mind and heart leap toward this memorable sweet spot. It's a good thing Eugene had a race conference this evening, or he'd be giving me a very disapproving look right now. Something about grass being greener, and so on.
Just as we crawl and then walk and then crawl again, we always return to where we started. Like the universe collapsing in on itself, we run so far away to wind up right back where we started, a race to return to ourselves. And every day that I live and breathe and rejoice and lament, I feel my personal Big Crunch looming just ahead, and I hold tighter and tighter waiting for just the right time to let go.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
The Tread
For weeks now I have been struggling with choices... some already made, and some splayed out in front of me like a filleted flounder. I see little iridescent, milky white bones facing all directions, and I can almost feel the panic as they catch in my throat.
I can let this panic take hold, or I can watch it pass by. If I let it slip from me, it will be replaced by nothingness. So unsure, all clouded vision, no perfect answer to my future. But this is the way. The Way. The principle of patience along my spiritual path maintains that I must also be patient with myself... patient with choices I've made that have brought me to a stone wall with no clear way around. An obstacle that blocks a beautiful sunset. A disappointment that keeps me treading water when I should have been moving forward, making progress.
But realistically, the only reason we want progress in our lives is so that we have new and constant things to distract us from dying. We are dying every day, some of us faster than others, and we want desperately to forget this certain end to our journey. But it is there, waiting diligently for us, as we struggle to blind ourselves with other activities. No matter how we struggle, we will all end up at the same spot, as death takes our hand and we vanish into nothingness. So we fear nothingness. It becomes just another reminder of our mortality and temporary status as a living creature.
But life, as we all know, isn't just about breathing and existing. It is about the time we share with others, and how that time and those memories become our legacy. We can panic, get caught up, choke and drown - or we can relax into the inevitability of our nothingness and accept that sometimes living means treading water until the next wave takes us. The wave might be big and we might be intimidated, or it might be small and not carry us very far at all. But all along the way, we have to trust that we are a tiny fish in a big ocean of dreams and possibilities, and our own milky white bones are magically strong in the face of adversity. The meat of our daily existence sometimes hides the exquisite brilliance of our skeleton.
Last night I sat watching a small, empty boat float right offshore, and there was a part of me that had to be restrained from jumping into the water and swimming out to it. I don't know what I would have done once I pulled myself into the vessel, other than rowing into oblivion with the stars lighting my way. The part of me that implemented restraint was the part that understood that what I found so beautiful about the boat was its emptiness... and its potential was more powerful than its captor's ambition.
I can let this panic take hold, or I can watch it pass by. If I let it slip from me, it will be replaced by nothingness. So unsure, all clouded vision, no perfect answer to my future. But this is the way. The Way. The principle of patience along my spiritual path maintains that I must also be patient with myself... patient with choices I've made that have brought me to a stone wall with no clear way around. An obstacle that blocks a beautiful sunset. A disappointment that keeps me treading water when I should have been moving forward, making progress.
But realistically, the only reason we want progress in our lives is so that we have new and constant things to distract us from dying. We are dying every day, some of us faster than others, and we want desperately to forget this certain end to our journey. But it is there, waiting diligently for us, as we struggle to blind ourselves with other activities. No matter how we struggle, we will all end up at the same spot, as death takes our hand and we vanish into nothingness. So we fear nothingness. It becomes just another reminder of our mortality and temporary status as a living creature.
But life, as we all know, isn't just about breathing and existing. It is about the time we share with others, and how that time and those memories become our legacy. We can panic, get caught up, choke and drown - or we can relax into the inevitability of our nothingness and accept that sometimes living means treading water until the next wave takes us. The wave might be big and we might be intimidated, or it might be small and not carry us very far at all. But all along the way, we have to trust that we are a tiny fish in a big ocean of dreams and possibilities, and our own milky white bones are magically strong in the face of adversity. The meat of our daily existence sometimes hides the exquisite brilliance of our skeleton.
Last night I sat watching a small, empty boat float right offshore, and there was a part of me that had to be restrained from jumping into the water and swimming out to it. I don't know what I would have done once I pulled myself into the vessel, other than rowing into oblivion with the stars lighting my way. The part of me that implemented restraint was the part that understood that what I found so beautiful about the boat was its emptiness... and its potential was more powerful than its captor's ambition.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Crowned in Pink
You spent hours gradually removing each pink satin layer. As you placed each tattered panel over a doorway, bed, or on the floor... the room began to shimmer and your pale limbs were exposed.
I walked the streets for hours, searching for your home. My own fingers were hardened by the winter air as the water pouring down from the sky threatened to erase the features of my face.
Then suddenly, I noticed the pink fabric floating in puddles, draped over trees... hung from electric wires. I followed that path of pink, those iridescent fabric clues you left out for all to see. You wanted me to find you.
But by the time I entered, the water had already risen, and you were frantically trying to reattach your clothes to your useless frame. The fabric ballooned around you as you panicked. I rushed toward you, my legs heavy and raw with the burden of the frigid water. I tried to push you under, to hasten your reunion with your lost wardrobe. You struggled, but I persisted. The water rose higher.
Part of me died that night, in the company of satin and frosted limbs. The rest of me escaped, wearing one of your dresses... all my seams in tact. The will of the water is not as powerful as the might of my sorrow, and the cold of the wind cannot deter my ambition.
I walked the streets for hours, searching for your home. My own fingers were hardened by the winter air as the water pouring down from the sky threatened to erase the features of my face.
Then suddenly, I noticed the pink fabric floating in puddles, draped over trees... hung from electric wires. I followed that path of pink, those iridescent fabric clues you left out for all to see. You wanted me to find you.
But by the time I entered, the water had already risen, and you were frantically trying to reattach your clothes to your useless frame. The fabric ballooned around you as you panicked. I rushed toward you, my legs heavy and raw with the burden of the frigid water. I tried to push you under, to hasten your reunion with your lost wardrobe. You struggled, but I persisted. The water rose higher.
Part of me died that night, in the company of satin and frosted limbs. The rest of me escaped, wearing one of your dresses... all my seams in tact. The will of the water is not as powerful as the might of my sorrow, and the cold of the wind cannot deter my ambition.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Sensory Memory
Eugene here. The Girl is far away, but I sense she is aching for contact, so I decided to pop on whilst she was Otherwise Occupied and leave a surprise message for her to find later.
I flew to foreign lands to oversee a transition of utmost importance, and my job has been quite effortless, for the Treasure I was responsible for has come to life and found its way on its own. There was some discussion, prior to my journey, that this might happen... and if it did, I was to keep my distance and protect from afar. That has been quite delightful for me as I feel somewhat an observer to a transformation of beauty. The Girl will be relieved to know it.
What I have learned throughout this process regarding love and friendship is that our friends... our true loves... stay with us in the same way a Sparkler light trail enraptures the human animal. The light isn't really there anymore, but there is a delay in sensory receptors so that the extinguished light remains in our perception. A memory of something so delightfully bright, our minds cannot bear to let it burn out so quickly. As it is with our love. The light might move, the light might vanish from our presence... but if it burns bright enough and we love hard enough... we will carry traces of it with us forever.
I will be flying home soon. My job here is complete.
Sincerely Yours,
Eugene (Champion Pegasus, Golden Elite Squad)
I flew to foreign lands to oversee a transition of utmost importance, and my job has been quite effortless, for the Treasure I was responsible for has come to life and found its way on its own. There was some discussion, prior to my journey, that this might happen... and if it did, I was to keep my distance and protect from afar. That has been quite delightful for me as I feel somewhat an observer to a transformation of beauty. The Girl will be relieved to know it.
What I have learned throughout this process regarding love and friendship is that our friends... our true loves... stay with us in the same way a Sparkler light trail enraptures the human animal. The light isn't really there anymore, but there is a delay in sensory receptors so that the extinguished light remains in our perception. A memory of something so delightfully bright, our minds cannot bear to let it burn out so quickly. As it is with our love. The light might move, the light might vanish from our presence... but if it burns bright enough and we love hard enough... we will carry traces of it with us forever.
I will be flying home soon. My job here is complete.
Sincerely Yours,
Eugene (Champion Pegasus, Golden Elite Squad)
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Meaning in Breadcrumbs
Just a little light flickers in. Violently, it nudges me awake. I shut my eyes tighter. I put my hand over my face. I think, "No... just a little longer." The problem with light is that it makes its way in no matter how you try to shut it out. Laughter is contagious but the disease isn't funny. Violet, now transitioning to blue... soon all will be white. Blinding, burning... my hand over my face won't be enough to stop it. The night was loving comfort, soft and gentle in her embrace. I could have lived there for centuries. I could have stayed hidden in her depths and silent in her vacuum. You wouldn't allow it. So I fell to earth, and with this day I must accept that my love has run aground... and I have simply slid onto the gravel surface without the proper safety equipment.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Up, Up and Away
Eugene here. The Girl has locked herself in a box of notes and ink droplets and asked that I not make too much a big deal of it. Race Training ended in the Spring and the Tournament was held recently. The Golden Elite Squad submitted their strongest athletes this year in hopes that we would continue a legacy of excellence in the sport of Pegasus Racing. My own protege is a fantastically talented bloke named Ashe who stood a very good chance of taking home the Golden Wings (coveted by many and won by Yours Truly several times!) Alas, the Golden Elite Squad only placed an athlete in Third for the Stallion division (Bronze Feather prize.) All of us were astounded when a little known gent from Canialah Galaxy took the Gold and Jemin from Astrid Galaxy placed second for Silver. Just shows you can train all you like, but there are still some surprises left in this Universe.
Speaking of surprises, I'm off on an Adventure of Epic Proportions. I can't say exactly where I am going, but I've been made responsible for overseeing the safety and security of a Glorious Treasure. I must tend to its welfare, and in the process take some time to reorganize my priorities. Race Training for the next Tournament starts in a couple of months, so no doubt I will return by then (besides, The Girl will insist at some point she simply must see the Glorious Treasure.) I will do my Mistress' bidding, and I will be a steadfast soldier in the name of all things Sacred Friendship. I will fly swiftly and carefully, and she will be my Guiding Light when the moon is hiding. She's pretty good at shining.
Sincerely Yours,
Eugene (Champion Pegasus, Golden Elite Squad)
Speaking of surprises, I'm off on an Adventure of Epic Proportions. I can't say exactly where I am going, but I've been made responsible for overseeing the safety and security of a Glorious Treasure. I must tend to its welfare, and in the process take some time to reorganize my priorities. Race Training for the next Tournament starts in a couple of months, so no doubt I will return by then (besides, The Girl will insist at some point she simply must see the Glorious Treasure.) I will do my Mistress' bidding, and I will be a steadfast soldier in the name of all things Sacred Friendship. I will fly swiftly and carefully, and she will be my Guiding Light when the moon is hiding. She's pretty good at shining.
Sincerely Yours,
Eugene (Champion Pegasus, Golden Elite Squad)
Friday, May 20, 2011
Tea in the Space Between Stars
I remember a conversation I had with someone once where I was complaining about some petty relationship issue, and she looked at me and said, "Everyone just wants to be loved."
I stood there, speechless. All the energy removed from my opinionated rant. That was all that needed to be said. Such a simple, pure and gorgeously succinct statement.
I told a beautiful friend tonight that I know, deep down, the reason I long for deep and meaningful connections with people is because I miss having a family. It was taken from me at an early age. But that desire can't be fulfilled without the most profound and affectionate of relationships. If I cannot connect with someone, not only are they not my family... but I see no reason to invest in the relationship on any level. Because I think that to honor this thing we call "being human" - having the ability to love on such a deep level and having the capacity for empathy - we must give love and give affection on a scale befitting our human abilities. Certainly work relationships aside, as we must make room for practical and professional interactions.
Doesn't everyone long for this connection? Doesn't everyone want to experience love in a very intimate way? Why do so many suppress the emotion and avoid the intimacy? It seems so odd and such a lonely existence to me... but that is because I have existed basically all of my life as a passionate lover. I love. I am head-over-heels, madly, passionately in love. Always. I can't not be. It is... what I do. My art, my hands... what my eyes behold... it is all so much love.
I've never found any justification for a life lived without loving as many people as possible, as passionately as my heart would allow.
Eugene says his tea is not hot enough, and would I please warm it for him. I love him, so I will.
I stood there, speechless. All the energy removed from my opinionated rant. That was all that needed to be said. Such a simple, pure and gorgeously succinct statement.
I told a beautiful friend tonight that I know, deep down, the reason I long for deep and meaningful connections with people is because I miss having a family. It was taken from me at an early age. But that desire can't be fulfilled without the most profound and affectionate of relationships. If I cannot connect with someone, not only are they not my family... but I see no reason to invest in the relationship on any level. Because I think that to honor this thing we call "being human" - having the ability to love on such a deep level and having the capacity for empathy - we must give love and give affection on a scale befitting our human abilities. Certainly work relationships aside, as we must make room for practical and professional interactions.
Doesn't everyone long for this connection? Doesn't everyone want to experience love in a very intimate way? Why do so many suppress the emotion and avoid the intimacy? It seems so odd and such a lonely existence to me... but that is because I have existed basically all of my life as a passionate lover. I love. I am head-over-heels, madly, passionately in love. Always. I can't not be. It is... what I do. My art, my hands... what my eyes behold... it is all so much love.
I've never found any justification for a life lived without loving as many people as possible, as passionately as my heart would allow.
Eugene says his tea is not hot enough, and would I please warm it for him. I love him, so I will.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Fixed Purpose
All you have is time. Time that seeps, time that weeps... time that crawls into your crevices and chews on your memories. Moments of breath and woe, moments of laughter and light. Drifting off to sleep, starting awake. Every moment of your short life, how much can you feel? How much can you share? Is hiding an option? Or will time bring you into alignment after your self-imposed dislocation? Abruptly set right, the universe shifts into full focus, with time ticking, ticking, ticking... eyelids fluttering like delicate wings that, if you follow the line down to the body, are attached by constellation and with immeasurable fortitude.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
The Craving only the Wind Knows
Eugene here. The Girl is hiding in the sea, where she believes her skin might be better prepared for the weather ahead. I took some time off from Race Training because I sensed that she would be in need of my services. As expected, I was dispatched to fly above a volcano, capture the fire, and bring back a treasure of light. I was also instructed to keep a close eye on her soul, which had recently been spotted dancing under the moonlight in a form not previously recognized. And just as I was about to begin planting the glass vials (that hold her precious tears) beneath the earth for shattering effect... I was recalled from my mission. It would seem that some form of distress had taken hold of The Girl's heart, and so I immediately began to fly home. Every now and again, she is startled by the silence of a skipped heartbeat. The wind could not carry me fast enough, so I had to make an emergency landing on a cloud and await further instruction. When it was finally safe to fly again, I found her curled up and holding her breath, waiting for What Comes Next. Once I opened the treasure of firelight and warmed her with it, she began to tell me the tale of her disturbing vision in the darkness. I reassured her that all was well, and she agreed that sometimes nightmares serve only as reminders to seek the safety of friendship in the face of tumultuous winds.
Point to the Horizon
Just woke up from a dream and grounded Eugene. Flightless assignmemt is going to annoy him, but apparently the wind couldn't carry him all the way home just yet.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Highest Order of Shine
Eugene and I were discussing fireflies tonight (before he hastily exited for Race Training... the Tournament is very soon.) He tolerated my head on his Pegasus belly for all but 10 minutes while I waxed poetic about the only thing from my childhood that I actually miss: fireflies.
Not just the shining little bugs, but also the sound of crickets at dusk. The sudden chill when the sun disappears. The little lights burning brighter and brighter as the sky sinks into indigo. The smell of damp earth and the feeling of wet grass beneath my bare feet... jar in hand.
Who gave me that jar? The glassy-eyed eccentric with the apron smeared with Vermouth. The quiet man in the corner. The boisterous boys clamoring for the last bit of food. The crickets. The wind blowing. The ominous sound of barking dogs in the distance.
My jar would be filled and I would stare into it, trying to see where the light was coming from. How did they make such brilliant light when they were such tiny beings? How does it shine so bright that for moments after I can still see the after image burned into the darkness behind my eyelids? I would let them land on me, and be delighted when the light reflected off of my skin. I imagined that they were inviting me into the jar.
And forever, all I have ever wanted, was to shine like that.
After my story, Eugene snorted and flew away... and for a moment, as he ascended into the deep blue sky, I thought I saw him glow.
Not just the shining little bugs, but also the sound of crickets at dusk. The sudden chill when the sun disappears. The little lights burning brighter and brighter as the sky sinks into indigo. The smell of damp earth and the feeling of wet grass beneath my bare feet... jar in hand.
Who gave me that jar? The glassy-eyed eccentric with the apron smeared with Vermouth. The quiet man in the corner. The boisterous boys clamoring for the last bit of food. The crickets. The wind blowing. The ominous sound of barking dogs in the distance.
My jar would be filled and I would stare into it, trying to see where the light was coming from. How did they make such brilliant light when they were such tiny beings? How does it shine so bright that for moments after I can still see the after image burned into the darkness behind my eyelids? I would let them land on me, and be delighted when the light reflected off of my skin. I imagined that they were inviting me into the jar.
And forever, all I have ever wanted, was to shine like that.
After my story, Eugene snorted and flew away... and for a moment, as he ascended into the deep blue sky, I thought I saw him glow.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
For a Friend
Was out of words, but then, caught out of breath.
You might think you lost yourself, but the truth is that she was always there. You will be fighting her your entire life - she lives in your veins. There is never any "new you" or "old you" or "reinvented you". There is just you. You and the trough and the peak and the hammer and the nail. You slamming yourself into walls, just because she wants a show.
And the only thing you can hope for - the most beautiful thing you will ever experience while you are alive for such a short time to experience it - is a friend and lover who will stand by your side to help keep that demon bitch at bay. If you lose that, if you willingly walk away from that, she will have her way with you.
You aren't the only one to ever have had this moment of questioning. Are we better off on our own? Are we stronger and safer on a solo journey? Can we protect others if we just get out of town and save them the hassle? Trust me, I've been there, and many - MANY - of my dear friends have been there. This comes from the deepest part of me. I've hardly believed in anything more than THIS.
When you have it, don't let the fear vanquish it. When you finally experience it, don't later wonder if it is just a matter of dust and feathers. Don't let clouded vision take away your gold. GOLD. Because once the gold is gone and the light goes out - she'll be laughing at you.
Blind the bitch with love and determination. Don't allow her to sully your beautiful home.
You might think you lost yourself, but the truth is that she was always there. You will be fighting her your entire life - she lives in your veins. There is never any "new you" or "old you" or "reinvented you". There is just you. You and the trough and the peak and the hammer and the nail. You slamming yourself into walls, just because she wants a show.
And the only thing you can hope for - the most beautiful thing you will ever experience while you are alive for such a short time to experience it - is a friend and lover who will stand by your side to help keep that demon bitch at bay. If you lose that, if you willingly walk away from that, she will have her way with you.
You aren't the only one to ever have had this moment of questioning. Are we better off on our own? Are we stronger and safer on a solo journey? Can we protect others if we just get out of town and save them the hassle? Trust me, I've been there, and many - MANY - of my dear friends have been there. This comes from the deepest part of me. I've hardly believed in anything more than THIS.
When you have it, don't let the fear vanquish it. When you finally experience it, don't later wonder if it is just a matter of dust and feathers. Don't let clouded vision take away your gold. GOLD. Because once the gold is gone and the light goes out - she'll be laughing at you.
Blind the bitch with love and determination. Don't allow her to sully your beautiful home.
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