when i am there, no one is watching, and somehow i'm able even to stop watching myself when i'm there. whatever is going on around me is held off just a hand away, sinking into a wrap-around ambience of mild warmth and white noise. the air is lightweight but palpable, like fog in a tropical dusk. sunlight and starlight reach in but only to paw the window glass. whoever is there doesn't mind that i am there, even if they are not there while i am there. how did i find this place? how did i know i could go there, when i've always been so cautious in every other place and opportunity? what made me think i had a right? how did i not get myself ejected from it, in justified outrage at my outrageous confidence of entitlement to it?
it's always a late afternoon vacation in that place, no matter what the outside weather suggests.
i wish i was there now. i wish i somehow could be there all the time, when whatever is inside me can rest and forget about the parts of me that hold the reality down, heavily earthbound.
i feel this place deep inside my heart, and i blow on the spark encouragingly, hopefully, with my eyes closed to stop the analytical inclination to reduce it to a sum of parts.
certain people encourage its slow, exponential emergence; others make me forget its existence.
maybe, by writing this down, i can help myself remember it.
i know this place isn't reality, but it holds off the competing realities and affords some rest to the reality i am prone to forget, so it can regain its strength. there are always blankets on that couch, always a fire in the stove beside it, usually a cat or a dog at hand, always music or a subtle, intelligent voice on the radio. good night, sweet prince, and stay as long as you want.
dedicated to j, and w, and k and m and s. you will never, never know the extent of my love for you.
No comments:
Post a Comment