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
130623 MDT 02:29
between
©
2013 by Jack Spratt—All Rights Reserved
