I loved once but grew weary of the underlying blame that the woes of the world belonged to me or my gender. Weariness, my dear friend is not anger, no more than fantastic or wonderful is anything good or wholesome.
We came together too quickly he and I. We moved toward love and intimacy at such a rate that consequence never left. He was in my mind, still is. I can still hear him call me, I feel his pull but I know in my soul he resists the very memory of me.
I don’t ponder him much – just on Fridays when I know he prays and I wonder how desperate he might be for a cigarette. That makes me smile – the damn things. I sit here in the far west and for the first time in my life am content. I must someday thank him for the loss, for now I am less afraid of life, perhaps not afraid at all.
Do I sound enigmatic? That is not my intention. My intention is to tell you to love, love deeply and lose.
I have few friends but the ones I call friend are indeed so. One sent me a message, a quote the other day; “what would you do if you were not afraid?”
The best answers in this age are questions. That’s how we know we are lost, distorted, darkened. The world we know is not right. The left is right and the right is always east. I sit here in the west and think of him and her question to me. Fear is a funny thing; it comes upon us in the middle. Bravery is the answer to our hesitations and when attachment is too well formed, too perfect, fear takes over and eats away the foundation. Top heavy and teetering we let the shambles go in a crash.
My crash was the making of me. I am in no hurry and the shy hand who brings me deep red roses, with no words to tangle my mind, is the warmth I crave. My hands and face will never be warmed, nor my body crave a passion that distance cannot defeat. I sit here in the west and let the east keep. I pray still and wait for the floods of antiquity to purge us again.
I seek high places and allow weakness to win.