"So as for dealing with these issues of (someone) we can't be with...everyone must find their own way I think, thinking for themselves what it is that they believe will feed and nurture their soul, which is a garden with a secret visitor who isn't really a visitor at all, but the one who tends the patch of life right next to it. Perhaps its easier to put up a fence or wall for the time being, and perhaps we can get some lovely flowers to climb up its sides, but I don't know that I can ignore the lovely sound of her voice as she sings to herself while she pulls the weeds and waters the flowers."
I read this somewhere and smiled, for it reminded me of something I'd written...ages ago. (Even if you are not in the exact same space as me, I know that you at least live next door.) I remember, remember my September. Those olden golden days when first I stumbled upon the we-space and found everything was different there. And that everything filled me to overflowing, so that it seemed as if I couldn't write enough words, paint enough pixels to show the way things seemed to me. So full of IT. Enough creative orgasms to set the universe afire.
Through him I dreamed. And even if the illusion of the fall in love was mine alone, I...well I was beyond happy. Then.
Now, it's different. Beams falling and paint peeling. Open doors falling off their hinges. Cavernous spaces that echo with unrequited sentiment. No longer safe for me to be there. Slowly, surely I am moving my things out. Looking for a different sort of one-ness; hoping the number will still be magic for me. Homeless I said I feel, but here is more like a halfway house. So still and small and...it's just me; occupying the in-between what once was and what will be.
Metaphysical rehab I guess. And sometimes it feels wrong, and the loneliness drills down to the very marrow of me. But even that is better than the sorrow of knowing I'm engaging in the same patternistic behaviors of days best left behind. But I have to believe that everything will be alright. The Knight of Cups brings the promise of a new home; where I can wear my heart on my sleeve without risk of exposure to the burning cold of indifference. No need of storm windows; it's always 77 degrees. And even the rain is beautiful, cleansing my inner skin of all the pain of rejection, abandonment, separatism, fear, and that silly silly circular "love." This addiction is no longer for me.
I will get there. I have...faith.
Posted by Lisa at October 28, 2007 04:13 PM