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Between us there lays a hard bitten reality, by root, stem and growth, witness and experience, of life and death enacted suddenly. The smoke and mirrors of wishful thinking evaporated. Dead meat, preceded by regret for the loss, of life, limb and lovers.

We both have been in triage, and parse the value of seconds against which the odds are life and death . . . not so much at hospice but before, now and forward.

Upon first sight there was an internal resonance, not bells, but a hum that said yes. And yes I gave up my desire and/or ambition to be more than friend many times over. “Had She Said Yes” did finally and I wonder why I tarry? By all outward signs I should be frantic, but am patience with my coveted writing time within which she equally resides . . . a sort of triangulation between Brother Sun and Sister Moon. Cycling. This love is something unexpected, overwhelming and unimaginable, for it changes constantly expanding and contracting as a heart beat yet endless.

I cringe at the thought of countless hours, heaped upon multitudes before, traveling. Bereft of this, these hours in darkness singing my songs. Learned as her psalms already shared in substance. And yet there is between us, at the least, my sense of it, that we are the, or like, an original pair. Love in any time is astonishing, at any season, or phase of life’s journey, yet oddly we seem better advised through experience that there is an end on the physical plane. There being, my experience, a continuity begun upon first sight of her. Organic, whole, perfectly formed, elements as two crystals grown. Patience being a quality grown from the helplessness of intervention in the lives of others. Kindness being a last resort. Generously given.

Oddly I sense, given my age and experience, each post is my last. Wanting not so much memory of me but to remind you of the choice between grasping and giving.

Laughter!

She asked that I somersault through burning hoops; in audition before our covenant. For which I will forever, in jest, remind her . . . but am I not equally guilty? I mean these prolonged days sustained by her affirmations and confidence. The peace I know is as much of her as myself in anticipation of what will become of us once together in residence actually.

Then too it is this long journey into radical transformation from solitude to oneness with another. Wringing out my equivocations, faltering over Annie’s response to what lays ahead. It is at this point that our shared experience of transitions between what was and will be comes to my aid.

What will be, will be . . . experienced through endless love for it all . . . it becomes simpler.

“To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly.” - Henri Bergson

“If ever two were one, then surely we. If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.” - Anne Bradstreet

The trail of quotes discovered/rediscovered gets deeper. It is only my sense that so few pay attention to synchronicity, chance, coincidence that I will cease here.

Save to share the astonishing reply to my previous post “birth” wherein Pam suggested that I have not yet fully inhabited my life as yet. I know I will not be the same tomorrow as I am now and I welcome that alive or dead. Not that I am indifferent to either she or myself, but am simply a realist able to argue any point of reference regarding perceptions. And under this fulsome moon extraordinary I am aware the tide within flooding generosity. . . .

If you would rather live outside the culture of war and carnage, read, throw the television out the window and learn what you really feel and think. Becoming your idea not the victim of others ideals.

"Death accompanies us at every step and enables us to use those moments when life smiles at us to feel more deeply the sweetness of life. The more certain the end, the more tempting the minute." - Theodore Fontane

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© 2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved