A Dream of Escape

A dream of escape.

Here in the Northeast in America, we are under a cold snap.

Since Christmas, we have been suffering with below zero temperatures and into the predictable future (according to the iPhone).

And then, with or without a cold (which I have), we are essentially trapped indoors.

I've been lucky to have a writing project to take me out of myself.

The BEST vacation I can ever have. 

You are Always Haunting Me, Melody, Haunting Me

The fewer relationships you have, the more each one seems to haunt you.

I woke up the other morning to realize that I couldn't FATHOM a relationship that was NOT centered in pain.

I attempted to plot out a relationship that would GIVE me things, rather than be defined by absences.  I say plot, like a lighting plot, not a script, because all I could plot were straight lines.  Easy words, "happy", "warm", "thoughtful", but I faltered at every detail. Nothing beyond a stick figure for the man of my dreams.

You were there, floating in the distance, as you always are, sometimes closer than at other times.  Bewildered at the humans below, just as I am here amid them.

I wished I could hold you.  But I had him instead, and it was nice. For the short time it lasted. (He has his own details which I'm not too eager to explore-yet)

It's nice to keep him as a stick figure. Captured, like a butterfly for study.  Beautiful images.  (I can NOT ask him for emotions, and whatever I ask, he will never be able to give.  By definition, I ask the impossible.)

Take All the Pictures You Can

Yes, I realize that the world is taking far too many pictures.

Yes, I realize I will probably never match up all the photos I take of the same thing everyday.  The difference is imperceptible, yet I am riveted by the changes and the similarities.

Because everytime I DO go back to my previous pictures, I am happy. Whatever images made me happy that first time allow me to revisit the shapes again. Look again and again until they become familiar and part of my mental art gallery.

The Blue and the Red which pop when side by side, outside of a favorite theater. 

Sometimes the shapes or the colors no longer speak to me. But the ones that do, the ones which catch my attention may even be more glorious than the original, real life image.

Just this morning, the reflection of leaves on the pond, and the bottom still visible.  And Green leaves with Red stems, and blue in the background, not of the sky-but of the steel and glass building behind it.  Almost as good as the sky.

The First Time I Heard His Name

I know his name existed in my world before I knew him.  (L.Kibbe, the Sot, in a show)

Before I knew I could know a man as a child, and as an old man and as him now.  They are all him now.

How easy it is for his dragon to re-emerge.  Knowing it is actually a part of himself.  He keeps his own dragons.

But I've never been able to explain it to him.  At any age.

Every night, I have a dream with a different Art Director.  That's his world.

Easier to Be Alone

Sometimes, there is the idea of being part of a couple.  A completeness that you can conceptualize.

But then, other times, there is the idea of what things would be like if you were left to the quiet by yourself. Some people haven't ever learned HOW to be alone, they are insecure, afraid of their own thoughts!

Sometimes it is just tedious to be around another person. (MElw, my mum) and although it is nice to imagine the connectedness of the Annual Gathering Family, sometimes it comes up empty.

(A work family seems more sane, if for no other treason than you can laugh at yourself and each other, and witness the moments of crisis, which seem to pass into nothingness every passing day)

He has learned to surf!

He's growing older everyday

I saw a video of him on the water, standing up and riding the waves.

Distant from me. As always.

Please Read the Letter....

I made a promise to myself (and to him, 2013?) to write him a short story every month until he was READY.

The Swimming

and This.

Please read the letter....even thought I did NOT include the link.

(Do I regret that?  I miss him and think of him, In Ethiopia...)

Nelson Mandela's Jail Cell

I saw his wife post the picture.

I asked to use it for the blog.

Amazing.

I still have no idea where he is.  Had a conversation about him recently.

Love is like a river, it's doesn't need another person to create it.  It is always there, maybe they activate it, but its always there.

Do I still love him?  Yes, but there is always love there, regardless.

Even when he is gone from my mind.

I met a new Emmett

There was a story of the 7 yr old boy and the 50 yr old and the 80 yr old man.

I've just met an Emmet at 50, instead of the little boy. 

He is always buzzing, a chef and a Southern entertainer. Great to talk to. Thin as a rail and always moving.

I'm still waiting

You asked me to wait. And I blocked you on email. 

I want the distant you. The manic you. Because isn't it part of you as a person? 

I want you as a person. A friend. Deep into the future. As if I'm Dorothy & I collect wild & wacky people on my life's journey. 

I think of you in Ethopia. Of the Old Man Down the Hall. And the Kid. And you in the middle.

And you in that jail cell. Like Nelson Mandela.

And in the closet. And fighting the dragons. And wandering around the Pond. Every week a story. Because you collect stories every week. And that is the only way you can interpret a life that exists in so many dimensions.

Walking the Shore, the Old Lady and the Young Boy

She opened her wrinkled eyes to the bright sun glinting off the water. His voice bounced off the lake in the same way.  She heard his cries, so deeply familiar to her that they could have come from her own body.

She was 75 and he was 5. A mismatched pair if ever there was one.

He was running around the sand.  And ran over to her, dripping on her a few times to get her to pay attention.  He was ready to circumambulate and she wanted to stay in the moment. He ran off in front of her, but kept returning to make sure she was always right behind.

By the time they got to Red Cross beach, they looked more like a middle-aged mother and her teenaged son. 

Em played drums today

He had some kind of performance. And his Mom & dad & Am & the 2 boys were there to watch. 

His new big family.

I'm the one who abandoned them.