prayerful of dreams - 2008-06-28
preschool princess - 2008-06-16
life with my sweetheart - 2008-04-29
the fast approach of four - 2008-04-12
lighting up my own life - 2008-03-08
2002-06-06 - 10:19 p.m.
waltz of words ~in the beginning~
~w
you've asked me many times how we met; what was i looking for in a secret
nook where voices meet and seek one another? i've answered you differently
each time. the question intrigues me and so i will again. (i do not know
myself, but it will be found.) i had wandered this world of webs and words
for hours, but had met no one. no one existed in this hollow space. there
was graffiti and art marking where people had been. but each time i was too
late. all had let (or had not been). was this only a mockery of what words
could be? i began to beleive that. but there were too many voices for that
to be all. i sought philosophy and academy, certain that behind some door a
million words waited. perhaps they still do. i learned that it is not the
words that are fixed on a tablet that i sought; i have those in my books and
my mind. i seek voices that touch me. perhaps i mean grab me. i work to
find words and build understanding and create worlds (that is the nature of
our world, a nature by which we know). i want a world which is resilient to
my ply; words which react and feel. where else should i search, but in a
place named for this desire? i wandered watching and feeling. i saw someone
at a distance and called to them, but they did not hear me or did not speak
the same language as i. but i had hope (and proof). i knew people were
here. and i saw ~you~ seducing all who you touched. i saw in this seduction
the presence of words. i saw in these words a life at last. i sought what
you'd offered to share with the world. and found myself transported to your
side. i'd read what you felt and whispered in your ear; i feel you. and you
heard. don't ask me how, i still do not know. a world of one now became
two. with the glee of a child i poked you (to awake to me), i grabbed fists
full of hair, i made sure you were real. you are. i absorbed your
attention, saturated my soul. that was what i sought. i did not know what
it would be. truths that we make are always that way.
you are the first i have known here. i am glad for that. through you i can
begin to touch others who i can not see. from you have flowered new voices,
whose music comes in whispers to me. at least it is real. i follow the
voices and begin to see. those who i sought begin to appear. we are
creating worlds. and lives.
after we parted the first time, i thought for a long time. i contemplate the
nature of the place. i created a story to explain its existence. it is to
me the story of marti gras in new orleans. where else do we admit that we
wear masks? masks which change and reveal and hide. (we always wear them.)
that day we met, and you disappeared. your mask could be taken or dropped on
the ground. i knew nothing and no one. no wonder the fondness of for games
of passion and love: i understand both marti gras and this world better now.
as you draw me in deeper, i must think some more. for in this world where we
create again, (the first is the world some call "reality") we create so much
pain. is it that our world which we choose to bound by flesh will not let us
carry our sorrows to fruition? or do we seek pain to use it? perhaps in
pain we can create 'us' and 'them' in a world where our bounds have been
obscured from you. i shall think more on that question. i do not know. but
i hear it repeated.
you are right that *J is a child you have given to me (though he does not
have the eyes of which you dream). as all children, he did not choose us.
as all children, he knows much more. i am privledged to have met him.
though we do not speak the same words. you shape me and fit me into his
world. he does not want me, of course. (oh, freud could have such a day
here.) he feels you (and me in you). it is a wonderfully terrible game we
play. you play it well. (truth is so easily missed.) you told many truths
though (for me just a little, i might hope). perhaps i need to find one who
asks so you know . he
speaks honestly. he does not hide.
but it is hard to let go of what we've been taught. how do we place
ourselves? how do we know ourselves? He seeks your place, which i already
know. he only asks the wrong questions. rather he asks the questions which
will tell him one truth. but not the one i seek
and what I seek ( like J ) is ~ you ~
blowing out your candle, and whispering a soft goodnight,
k ~
old starlight - new starbright
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