Tuesday, 24 January 2012

  • I return to moments, in order to work through this present one. D's allusions to Jedis, to masters and students. Everything is the same: my love, his love, the to be marriage. I return to the staircase at the monastery, me telling Daniele's friend I am the luckiest woman in the world. to Daniele's friend telling me that even when we forget it, we remain the luckiest woman in the world. He says either to strap it on or go elsewhere. In his voice I hear the fear, in mine I hear it too. Compatibility questions. Lifestyle questions. I like my 5 o clock finger of whiskey. Daniel lives clean. I smoke. We knew these things going in, we lived them not so long ago. But the distance between us feels like ages. Somewhere deep inside my secretest self I know he is right, I know that level waits for me. But the human incarnation speaking to me like a demigogue, I have problems with. Demi-god. Whether his intent or not. I vibrate with new knowledge of myself. Voids present themselves, and I go past them, forward. Dressed to kill today with my pink silk shirt and YSL red lipstick, I have a problem not resorting to games to feel vindicated. I have a problem moving past the urge to seek revenge of a sexual nature (predator vs prey) after finding photos of him an ex in an island getaway shot. She looks hot as fuck, tight little german body with tits that kill. I feel equally thrilled for him to have had some of that and jealous, thinking of his tanned Brazilian body over her. What he would say to her, in german. Jealousy is a confusing emotion for me; it is for most people. I did it to myself, I opened this void for myself. This is why I avoid using a partner's electronics: the temptations are too great and the only end to it finding exactly what you wanted to find. Which is exactly what you should not have been looking for. We all have pasts. We all can use the past as an excuse not to be present, here and now and for the future. This void I try and sidestep in real time - I see D and Valter cross the street. I will put the lipstick away. I will avoid using my nature to seek a revenge. For now, I believe it will work.

Friday, 20 January 2012

  • Every movement I make feels like a prayer.

    I am getting married on the spring's solstice, midnight on March 25th.

    I cannot articulate how blessed I feel, and so I will simply say: AMEN.

Saturday, 31 December 2011

  • Tautology: the circle that keeps on giving

    And giving, and giving. In examination of ones life it is difficult not to be struck by the series of repititions. Of loops, of "it happened over and over again" -ness. Repeating ones mistakes, sure, mistakes being the most obvious and visible result of the background sureness of the same cycle of repeat. You repeat your experiment, the results will be the same. The results which displease us stand out. But the other results, the subtle to the roaringly obvious, are just as present and just as powerful. 

    The circle that keeps on giving: leaving to leave to return once again. This is why I am thankful for pain. Pain is vocal, pain is loud. It is hard to cover up and harder to muffle. It manifests itself somehow, every time, in various disguises. Pain is the most obvious result of repetition, for we learn lessons but we rarely learn the right ones. We rarely learn the right ones the first time, and so we repeat. The circle that keeps on giving: pain, but also the chance to grow, to change, to learn. To evolve. To get un-stuck and to transcend in life. In love, as a member of humanity, as an individual prime. As a lover and beloved.

    Tonight at midnight I turn 24 years old. I have been on this earth for just under a quarter of a century. Less than 9,000 days. Andre Gide wrote that " one doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time." Tonight I turn 24 in the company of friends, in the company of Daniel and of God on Italian soil. The fact being that the past two months have left me no doubt (no mercy) about the fact that something is coming, something is approaching. Soon. Going to Italy and to Dan was my way of meeting it half-way, a show of good faith. I see it, hear it, and agree to it. I am terrified. But I am brave. Unless I have Living, active Faith I have rien, so I proceed. This is terrifying, this is right.

    It is misleadingly easy to know when it is right: the way the heart directs them - it is to feel well no matter what and guided by a rock solid surety at any point in a journey, to feel au fond so naturally well in oneself, ones decisions, and to rest snugly in the present moment which to he or she who sits there in comfort expands, expands to an infinity one must experience to recall.

    Everything else then melts away. The pain of the past. Fear, worry. Lack. Overabundance. It all melts away into my own internal wellspring. Into it I dive, I go into- in words- THE ONLY WAY OUT WAS ALWAYS THROUGH. Dan says, and the mind will bow. John says, I exploded into confetti. 

    2012, let us try something new with you. Life, you too. You open and I will enter, I enter as you will open. Midnight tonight, my birthday. Midnight tonight, beside my husband. Midnight tonight, with God. And the blessing, the absolute divine blessing of being Alive, with midnight, with my husband, with God, the mind it will bow yes the mind, it will remember how to bow.

     

     

Friday, 23 December 2011

  •  

    was it Picasso who said; inspiration exists, but it has to find you working?

     

    inspiration found me,

    working.

    now we move on together. it is a different work than before. it is a different verb entirely. expanding. we're expanding.

Wednesday, 21 December 2011

  • When I feel this heavy lull, this black abyss pull - into sentiment, into love, My own Faraway One - I do not give in. I will not give out and let this be a love for Letters, I cannot, will not give you up to some otherworldly need for Story. Rabbit, you say. Always Running. I don't want to run any more Daniel. I want to love. I want all of you. Even the parts I ran from before. I will find this pocket of silence and by god I will riot into it. I will riot until He grants me audience.

    For this love, this lifetime. Every risk I take with my health shows me a mirror image death mask. How can I risk my health and ask for a lifetime? How many years does Daniel have left, and I sit here and fuck with my body? I have had plenty of levity in this lifetime. I might have used it up. I feel a timeline, ticking. The clocks at the eleventh hour and it's Whitman's ninth month midnight - we're moving towards something so large, it will swallow us whole. So I riot my way back to you. Daniel. So when it falls, it will fall on us. Not me, not you. us. I will spend the rest of my life wishing not that this was easier, but that I was better. Every day with you, I am made better than I was before. So I'm rabbit running, running to you. Running my way right back to where you are and I can begin.

  • and sometimes, a poem hits you like a brick to the head and all you can do is

    Lie still now
    while I prepare for my future,
    certain hard days ahead,
    when I’ll need what I know so clearly this moment.

    I am making use
    of the one thing I learned
    of all the things my father tried to teach me:
    the art of memory.

    I am letting this room
    and everything in it
    stand for my ideas about love
    and its difficulties.

    I’ll let your love-cries,
    those spacious notes
    of a moment ago,
    stand for distance.

    Your scent,
    that scent
    of spice and a wound,
    I’ll let stand for mystery.

    Your sunken belly
    is the daily cup
    of milk I drank
    as a boy before morning prayer.
    The sun on the face
    of the wall
    is God, the face
    I can’t see, my soul,

    and so on, each thing
    standing for a separate idea,
    and those ideas forming the constellation
    of my greater idea.
    And one day, when I need
    to tell myself something intelligent
    about love,

    I’ll close my eyes
    and recall this room and everything in it:
    My body is estrangement.
    This desire, perfection.
    Your closed eyes my extinction.
    Now I’ve forgotten my
    idea. The book
    on the windowsill, riffled by wind …
    the even-numbered pages are
    the past, the odd-
    numbered pages, the future.
    The sun is
    God, your body is milk …

    useless, useless …
    your cries are song, my body’s not me …
    no good … my idea
    has evaporated … your hair is time, your thighs are song …
    it had something to do
    with death … it had something
    to do with love.

    Li-Young Lee, This Room and Everything in It

Tuesday, 20 December 2011

  • I miss him in skin. I miss his sinuous limbs, his cock. I miss his tongue, I miss his teeth, and the marks they leave. His tongue, and how it makes me go tidal. Tidal, baby.

    I miss him with my entire being; my heart, most days, lodges itself halfway up my throat and it makes breathing more difficult. I wish it wasn't true, most days I wish I wasn't so truly agonizingly emotively captured by love. I wish I didn't fall so damned hard. But it is what it is and so I continue

    to miss him, his skin. Until a few days from now, when I know if I can book a ticket for less than 7 days from now.

    and have him, in skin, in heart, in hands. Him.

Thursday, 15 December 2011

  • yesterday was a hard day. Not too often do I have those kind of days, those kind of days, you know.

    Luckily, I gave it up, but it didn't give me up. Amen to that.

    it's a new day, it's early (6:41) a.m, my girlfriend has an italian coffee machine and milk steamer, and lives right down the road from dean and deluca. so life isn't that bad. in fact, it's damn fine. i love her so very, very much, and i love myself and the World Entier. Most days I love so much it leaves a tender ache. So one bad day, that's okay too. Neti Neti. It reminds me how often we (me) forget gratitude. how to be grateful. Neti neti.

    Today is a new day. Amen to that.

     

     

Wednesday, 14 December 2011

Monday, 05 December 2011

  •  

     

    Alone with the Lonely One

    The World arranged itself into a living, breathing, chameleon of signage some eons ago, but she arrived there by seeing faces in the trees.
    st francis. one early summer morning, outside her window. 

    She cried for joy.

    Now the wind sings to her. Now, she is apart from her lover, and she is learning to greet auguries with patience and gratitude and a hint of desperation. her open love mid-stasis, in a slow steady flexing that looks something like breathing.

    ----

    Dan sends me notes from Young's PH seminar's Italy side:

    Conferenze Robert Young

    1) In this world we don't need medication but education.

    2) pH - Perfect Health

    44) "Life and death is in the blood." (Moses)

     

    Dan's got the garnet goo on his mind; blood, body, guts. Illness, sickness, disease. Decay. The potential that humanity has to destroy itself without paying attention. What nourishes me, destroys me.

    It's the same anorectic allusions to Purity. And I find it equally unhealthy. It doesn't mean he's wrong, or I'm right, or Dr. Young isn't the next life-term Messiah;

    it means that one must be careful, above all things, to remember the source. (us)

    and not to make it a morality question. if morality enters, so it's written. So it's to be. But again; death on the mind, illness, ooze, decay. Own worst enemies. Magic fountains of red youth begging us to take the temperature.

    I don't do well with Daniel's passive judgments about health. For me, or for others. I understand he sees it as dissemination information; I understand he truly believes he says the things he does because he believes he is only worried for me.

    I won't battle the scientific rationale; I am sure I'd find most 'facts' true. I am sure I'd try to eat less acidic.

    But

    Don't make health a battlefield. The body is a temple, help people love it. Don't buy into western medicine's rhetoric. Open your eyes and the source, see Yourself, see your filter. Everything true DOES NOT ask you to open fire. It just asks you to

    Open.

     

    I'm open, et tu, brute?

Monday, 28 November 2011

  •  

    Kafka says to write is to pray. Allusions to the river, the state of inflow and outflow, of regenerative and flux so alive it breathes.

    若久  アレア ダニエル

     everything is opposed to way I plan it. every time I attempt to use resolve to move, my feet plant and eyes affix to something more interesting.

    nothing's getting done, nothing's happening, except that flux.

    i am learning to love it, to love myself for being so contrary I can't even obey myself.

    something worthwhile is happening here,

    despite the nothing

    & that's, this is...just;

    just

    da maneira que eu gosto; the way i like it.

Saturday, 26 November 2011

  •  

    I feel half here. Fatigued- can't even find meaty living Joy in accomplishment. I am plagued by a period of Nietzsche's Untimely Meditations. Unseemly Meditations. Auguries and noises; Gory. Loud. Abrasive. Shocking. Surreal. Real. Real, REAL but impossible. Impossible but Real. Is it possible to hurt so much, God? I want to slip into non-being. I can't. I know better. Than even to try and turn off my mind. So I am left with a bubbling, roiling vat of anxiety about D and our potential futures together that lies not very deeply beneath my surface. Minor spikes, fumes - rise up from below. It's natural. It's understandable. But it is entirely and devastatingly unhelpful. Neti neti helps but doesn't cut it. What will? Well, Universe, I take my hands out of the pot. trying to ease the boil only to get burnt. I believe. Happiness is here and now and it is always Enough.

     

    Remember how to let go.

    Enough of that, let's try this. I remember now the numinous well being from Assisi; from a glimpse into Eternity.

    Perspectives either do or do not lend themselves to inner peace. When you forget, as you will often in the coming weeks, look at the stars and remember. Remember.

    How can I remain stuck in this suffering ego and mind when I remember I have and am a piece of the numinous whole? I am holy because all is holy. This pain, too, is sacred.

    This is but a blip in the radar of a life, let alone eternity. Remember how you have struggled before, so similarly, struggled with Love and Fear. Remember how it all progressed heedless of your struggle and worry. You worried so much about the possible outcome and avoiding THE MOST TERRIBLE THING EVER (i.e being alone, without that person) and only now can you see all this worrying and turning over did... absolutely, nothing. Absolutely nothing but bring you and yourself suffering. Gave you tunnel vision. Everything happened and your Fear and Worry weren't worth a shit because they are not constructive, inner growth-related emotions.  They address the Lack in one's life. And they tease circumstance towards the same black whole, made up of one mind's entire black hole of Lack.

    So Remember.

    You know exactly what you're doing, because this moment is perfect the way it is. Even this pain is perfect.

    Inner quiet and inner peace and abounding love is just a letting go away.

     

    So, Let Go. To Let Inside.

     

     

     


Saturday, 19 November 2011

  • I half wish Daniel hadn't sent me these. They devastate me, they ravage me, they leave me speechless. They knock me down, guys. I am outside of myself, unaware of self and of outside world. Devastating - look, look at my eyes, the way I am looking at Daniel in the first one. These were taken when we ran from Rome/his ex girlfriend and took the never ending italian bus ride to Tuscany, to the house of Giancarlo and Marisa. On the commune. We stayed in an empty family apartment, all was stone, we were nowhere to be found. Nature ate us up, we were oblivious to everything except each other. Making love, eating, making love, smoking, making love, walking, making love, making up book titles that don't exist, making love, falling, falling, falling in love. Felled by love. 2nd picture, after making love. Love, love love. The absolute tenderness of them, and then the absolute past-ness of them, they reside, she resides, that Kate, in The Past. Present tense, I can't look that Kate in the eyes. it hurts to look at her. i see everything - everything rushes back so quickly there's a sense of vertigo. i see her hope, her naive and meandering belief, her Love, her LOVE, her baby-new LOVE in full explosive blossom. Love ENFLORAISON. Magenta tinged sadness. I half wish he hadn't. But I know I need to learn to look at that Kate and smile, and love the past equal to the present and not feel a pulsing, writhing wound of the recent if misleading outcome. I need to learn. I got two fortune cookies last night;

    "Life to you is a bold and dashing adventure" & "One always regrets what could have done. Remember for next time."

    The soft mistakes in the english make the second one more true, if that's possible.


    So, Kate, that Kate, this Kate, Kate Kate Kate : Remember for next time.

Wednesday, 16 November 2011

  •  

    Universe, I am angry. I am hurt, I am shocked, startled out of myself. I am disheartened. I am so very surprised. When you're taken aback by something, what often follows is a slow dawning realization you shouldn't have been very shocked at all. Which leads to more hurt, more shock, and a heavy heart. Your darkness is showing, Daniel. Showing exactly how at your worst, it clouds out any light, guarding it's own lack of illumination as a matter of life or death. Your intellect shrivels. Your dialecticism selective. And all I hear when you speak is Fear.

    I received several potentially hardcore pieces of news regarding my health today. A blood test revealed things that require imminent attention. Not one thing, but 3. Two huge surprises, one less surprising, but equally problematic. I'll postpone my NYC journey til next week because these things require me to stay put and solve them. The body belies the internal struggle of loneliness, stress, and upheaval. I feel guilty, I want to hug my internal organs and systems and tell them how sorry I am. That I'll do better.

    Help me help myself, Universe. With my emotional and physical turmoil.

     

     

     

Friday, 11 November 2011

  • Proust's recherche du temps perdu - les temps éternelle. 

    Sleep Pieces. Poetry still a sensorial vertigo. I love you fully, Daniel, like the red harvest Moon. It is New England's winter-autumn throwup. Regardless of distance, I rejoice in it all. because I love you like the Moon.

    I take the hero dive into the subconscious. I seek individuation. I dive, into

    After the winter storm that knocked out power for a week or more, a belated exodus d'oiseaux. A cheerful, if belated, bon voyage. blick black birds commandeering green highway exit signs for their brief tree to sky interlude.

    "Hartford has the greatest crow population of any city in the U.S", Adina says. As 84 blocks itself in concrete sideways and a black curtain flies up the infinity line, I have to agree. at least believe.

    5am.

    The Poetry of the Impossible is the burning bush itself!

    i try for radial innocence. thank you for my lack of words. thank you, God, for all of my pain.

    Thank you, thank you, Thank you for humility, thank you for the courage to continue to work on myself.

    this is ego-pieces that floated around the ego bone being extracted.

    this is white, hot, living agony.

    this is white, hot, Living, Faith.

Monday, 07 November 2011

  •  

    Despite the very real way in which I am continuing to live, act, and plan, short term to long term, despite the very real way in which I am okay, seemingly getting along with whatever I left Dan in San Cesario to do, there is the simple and poignant truth that whatever I do, where I go, however I spend my time, there is this fundamental Lack. That would be Daniel. I feel like a woman whose husband has gone out to sea - I feel both resigned and hopeful and guilty enough to play that martyr's role, for sure. Men ask my friends if I'm married, because I act like I am (?). Married. My soul knows it, and directs my being accordingly. I am his.

    I feel so old now, aged and humbled by the raw process which got me to this point. The past 3 months. The decisions I took apart from Dan. The Cosetta I refused, the husband I refused to concede to - the dead stop anguish that nearly knocks me down at odd times. In the car, in the hardware store making spare house keys. Real estate signs. The anguish of choosing not to have the beautiful child of a man whose heart is my own. How could I, his beautiful, he, beautiful, his child, HIS!? Dear god. HIS. a child he enfin wanted to keep, while I did not. he wanted me to, but i did not. I refused love; I want to cry aloud for my mistakes, I want to keen to the sun moon midday but as Mary Oliver said: the world doesn't need anymore of that sound. The choices that got me here, now. Here, sans Dan. The ones that suddenly left me feeling like a woman, and not a girl, a fille, not dani's dolce ragazza, but a woman. I had a choice. I took my decisions, and here I am. I cannot make decisions now based on my past methods. I have changed too dramatically within too short of a time, and I find myself completely without a map of how to figure state-side out. NYC bound. It was I who said bon voyage - technically, I refused the terms of that specific life (and that specific Daniel, san cesario daniel, japan ice man, that probably would remind him of his father, ).

     

    september, san cesario;

    -

    you bring the house down with your glassed eyes, japan ice-man
    rigging the walls to marionette

    every charged wrong

    a soldier: a hopeless march
    my lack of poetry a sensorial vertigo
    we have a wake for your writing,
    which has
    stopped. click pop
    stopped, the only revival daime the click clock
    of your olivetti.


    (firmeza)

    the songs about far off chinese virgin marys.
    i love you like the moon
    i love the death in you but

    you bring the temperature down,
    walking as if taking a beating while this
    woman waits, trying to love you, japan ice-man

    -

    Maybe we're both out to sea. Drifting towards true North. Despite the way we continue to live, act and plan short to long term, there is the fundamental truth of that Lack and I want my darling, I want my daniel, my best friend. to heal, to come together on both of our individual terms. I cannot sacrifice myself to love, not anymore and never again, not even for this Love Supreme. ESPECIALLY not this love supreme. you dig? I cannot and will not tailor nor tame myself for anyone besides myself, and I refuse daniel's violet violence, his touching but consuming dark tendencies which try to conquer me. The female in me reacts in kind. He's always had me in a state of heat. I cannot have enough of him. What he hasn't realized yet is he already has, (conquered me) from the first time he made love to me and I was shaking like a leaf, he had and he has me, completely. Body, heart, mind. With that comes the responsibility of respecting the partner enough to let them come to their own conclusions (about drinking, etc). The challenge of letting go of what you imagined, what you think could or should be, versus the actual companion along for this monogamous ride. This ain't no chess game baby, and you ain't got no right. I know there's Kate one and logistically I am Kate 2 (with lazzerr vision!) but your flashbacks of ebgert and her suprise pregnancy, they cost us. More than you know.

    journal entry - san cesario

    --

    I am caterwauling into the universe for you, husband. You almost made me a mother - the mother of your children. Almost. I found Japan ice-man on his beach chair eating 40-minute salsa and nachos. Staring into the East with brown eyes flashing in such controlled violence they appeared black. All you were was two obsidian eyes and calm piano hands, the light dark shaman monk became THE darkness finale, and spoke to me with a serpent's tongue. You shot the words to the east. To me, like they were clips- you were a loaded weapon. and the shot hit the target. "I'm going to get a vasectomy." You looked at me then, facing my compass center,  North, and held my gaze with your two obsidian orbs, melanoid. Onyx eyes through skin a round from a machine gun. Fury, you were, an imploding supernova. your eyes turned dead again in the span of seconds.

    I had heard enough. it was the last sentence I expected, it might have been the only one that could break my heart. I could take anger, terror, frustration, uncertainty, or anything human. In that exchange, my animal (rabbit) heart was mortally wounded. With the deadpan delivery of such concentrated, icy rage. by the selfishness, the absolute childishness of you, the clumsy devastation you wreaked without paying attention. The cosetta we made, I waited for your verdict. Human fallacy or frailty aside, japan ice-man, that was it. i waited with an open mind and heart, you had nothing to fear. there were no traps, only options.

    those four words decided it for me.

    --

     

    We can heal from this.  I am waiting. I refused your terms, I refused and I left. But Daniel, I can never, ever refuse you.

     

     

     

Thursday, 03 November 2011

  • Retro-spector's Heart; Falling in Love with Daniel

    My retrospecting heart is a traitor's heart. It drags me back, it demands I revisit the moment I fell in Love, the moment this all began.

    I can do naught but satisfy it's animal hunger, or risk being eaten alive myself.

     

    random textedit file, Thursday, 07 April 2011


    i didn't see this coming.

    i think of you even in thoughts-in-between; last night, I dreamed we made love. I dreamed we fucked, I dreamed of your cock and your hardness in between my legs and my wet, wet, wet, welcoming flesh of the noises you would make and the way your eyes would move up, down, inside their sockets. I woke up only to realize I imagined you in place of my reality, him, claiming me for what its worth, aware for what it's worth, of that something else in between I think of.

    (i ache for you, when only a few weeks ago I was unaware of you (consciously) in any way other than friendship - now I am acutely aware of the way one could happily deny any of this, with zen grace so mediated as to be to love, in a refusal disgrace) it feels as if life ripped a sacred something away  from me, that which I had always been destined to find. Do you curtsy, bow, exit left? Do we chalk this up to something or other in the artesian well water? To being just One Of Those Things, almost-maybes remember the way you tingled and the universe times itself to our obvious symphony, synchrony baby. This is all entirely unlike me. and I do not know how to go forward as I was before with Philippe. I think I need to leave you alone, I think that if I care for your self assured happiness and comfortable wisdom at once so ancient same time baby bird I will have to walk away from this and from you. I think its what you want. I must respect you enough to believe you are capable of making that decision for yourself and since I respect you, I respect the finality of the relics you keep, the stand still jelly you preserve your beautiful timeless knowledge in. I refuse to make judgements - but I see all of you and I love you. All of it and I need to step away and give this space.

    I am scared, elated, and later when my mind is quieter and I can begin to rationalize things and I will tell myself KATE! girl, got to get a grip, shake it off shake it off. on the hard shell of it; I cannot give blindly as I cannot trust without a doubt that this was the same for you. It isn't your fault this fell from the sky and onto my head revelation oops epiphany oops you sort of love this kid, don't you? you sort of are ravaged by a thin blade of tenderness every time the light catches his bald head or adams apple. you didn't come here for this, Kate, so let it be?

    I am not sure how it would all work out. the question feels both vulgar and of no consequence. I do not favor upheaval of this level or nature; I don't do a 180 with concentrated yee-haw pillage this shit joy. I thought I was well with my life. I thought I was moderately happy with my partner. I thought life wasn't so bad, and sometimes it was even pretty damn good. Then your damn bald head shining off the LSD neon fucking ripped me up, teared me up. What is that, what in the universe is that knee jerk absolutely primal reaction? Its a tenderness SO large I can barely contain it, it literally stole my breath. At the table, then on the train when you slept. All my tenses are wrong here, I am reality-less, I can't figure if you're past present or future tense. terse, sprinkling kinds of vice grip pain to think I will probably let it be, let it rest.

    other times  I cannot see anything clearly, except how insanely soul-electrifying right it felt to be near you. how you made me feel so well in myself, how you felt like coming home. an absolute shock, this unsought asylum. coming home from wherever we were before. The freedom of childhood, unselfconscious, 7 years old in the forest. The most beautiful part of that you brought back to me, so for that, whatever doesn't ever happen or whatever is never articulated you may have very well saved my soul. what i had come pretty close to selling out in my hell bent battle with the ugly part of life. maybe i imagined i could win. at one point it was all easily fit into the battle arena and I put on the armor and picked up the sword with barely contained selfish, glorified pleasure

    all of it catches my throat swells the tissues slows me down, because I have no right to ask that of you, because I will not, because I cannot. You are safe. I will not come. you can continue on uninterrupted. One time, I thought I saw All of you, and that was enough.

    It was always enough.

Friday, 28 October 2011

  • Gestation Realization; This Must Be The Place (CT side)

    The Journey / Mary Oliver

    One day you finally knew
    what you had to do, and began,
    though the voices around you
    kept shouting
    their bad advice--
    though the whole house
    began to tremble
    and you felt the old tug
    at your ankles.
    "Mend my life!"
    each voice cried.
    But you didn't stop.
    You knew what you had to do,
    though the wind pried
    with its stiff fingers
    at the very foundations,
    though their melancholy
    was terrible.
    It was already late
    enough, and a wild night,
    and the road full of fallen
    branches and stones.
    But little by little,
    as you left their voices behind,
    the stars began to burn
    through the sheets of clouds,
    and there was a new voice
    which you slowly
    recognized as your own,
    that kept you company
    as you strode deeper and deeper
    into the world,
    determined to do
    the only thing you could do--
    determined to save
    the only life you could save.

    - - -

     

    Somehow this poem by Mary Oliver, so honest so simple, and the New Yorker article on Jean Paul Gaultier amalgamated together then distilled to give Voice to a new Realization of mine over a garage side cigarette. It was the first snowfall of the season in Connecticut last night, turning from rain to sleet to snow sleet to powder within the dinner hour 7pm. I went to town to buy cigarettes and:

    In front of your windshield the snow flies at you in a furiously immaculate firework kaboom (ker-bloom, winter flower), rain to snow more prismatic, snow headlight kaleidoscope. The radio dial is set to "I Choose Free Will" by Rush circa '85, and the Universe is telling you in all ways that this, (this, here, leaving to come to be able to leave again) is Good. This, was Right.

    Japan ice-man, where are you, what position are you sleeping in and of what do you dream? Who do you smile at now first thing in the morning, whose face do you see first? Claudio, most likely. Take it and laugh at it, dude. Laugh so you can take it.

    Your (animated) face over skype slices me. I momentarily panic - why did I leave, why in God's name did I get on flight EI0108, on a plane that brought me even farther from you? Away from my glow-worm heart, my Japan ice-man, my dark saint, the eclipsing moon to my sun, my friend, my confidante, mentor, teacher, creative equal, partner, lover, soulmate, husband?

    All of this is a tough order, but we're the (tough) customers who ordered it. Bene.

    You looked tired, darling, but still so very beautiful. <> This is where you're supposed to be. Stop flagellating yourself. Stop assuming pain equals progress or processes worthwhile by default, or that trials are something you've inexplicably earned and are subjugated to. Stop punishing yourself and listen to your heart. My Daniel, my husband. Stop choosing pain because it is all you know - because it is all you've ever known. Stop repeating - listen to your own wisdom. I am here, waiting, working with the universe to help (you/us) break this cycle. Your tautological funerary altar-mindset, where you stay, vigil sitting. Not seeing the difference between sanctity and sanctimoniousness.

    I often recall the experience I had in the pool now just to my left outside as an 8 year old. I've spoken of it before - when on a hot summer afternoon a slow lazy august rain began to fall. slowly, as if testing itself out. My attention was caught then arrested absolutely by the experience of seeing a lone raindrop hit the top of the placid pool water. The axial raindrop gave way to the usual continuing circles - the aftereffect of one rain drop that becomes ringed others, the wake of water drop premier. Bulls-eye effect. I recalled it once again this morning as I contemplated destiny - and if I was following mine.

    Until today, I have always recounted the experience as such; as the second, third, fourth etc raindrops fell on the surface, the rings began to run towards eachother, to collide. Sudden chaos because of connectedness and consequence. I must have always been eccentric because for a week, a week afterwards I was literally speechless because the concept of action and reaction occured to me. All we do, all choice we make in life has reprecussions so minute yet more powerful than the original choice (raindrop). And life is a soup of these interconnecting interacting after effects results. Everything, every choice, every thought, suddenly weighed so much as to shock me into in-action. I was petrified because I realized I could never see the complete picture. How that action affected others and how those other actions (not even my own!) play off eachother to create the landscape of existence. The state of reality as a fission fusion collision and to my 8 year old brain, the chaos of existence was too much. When you're 8, things are because they are and you aren't particularly preoccupied with existential considerations.

    When I was 8, until now, I feel as if I've been grappling with myself and the question of chaos as a natural state of reality. The fact that I couldn't plan or maneuver in the wake of this one variable uncontrollable phenomenon.

    This morning I realized I had moved onto Phase 2 - realizing that the point was the Chaos. That the point was I was coming to the question from a cerebral, analytical brain. I have that tendency - I can be dry to a fault, my mind can play machine too well. I saw it all 2 dimensionally, so of course the 3rd dimension terrified me. Now, suddenly, since striving to live a 3-d existence spiritually intellectually hoslitically, I see the Order of Chaos. Of destiny being here and now, and Everything is Perfect in its way and all we can do to say thank you is to live that truth.

    To stop being obsessed with the raindrops and more concerned with swimming in the body of water they join to make. Perspective is choice - it is a choice when you grow enough to realize the other truths. Then you are asked to make a choice to remain that 8 year old and pursue those nature of existence reality and man Kierkegaardian dialogues 'the human 'condition'' as an adult, or...

     

    to take the Leap and learn to Live.

    In that seething, gorgeous primordial muck-up of consequence reactions that turned out to be, all along, Destiny.


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