the dance of the lonely-no-mores begins...
How do you know when you have found something? Does it take stating that something has been missing? Is admission of such lack a sign of weakness? Is it owning the condition of missing a thing that one becomes able to obtain it? What about the powers of need, want, desire and longing. Do these energies polarize, magnetize or neutralize the mind and souls abilities to create from seeming nothingness things which can make us content, even smile? Things which can soothe our souls? Things which can end our searching?
There is something I have wanted for a very long time. It has recently manifested itself in my life. Was I looking for it? Was I expecting to find it any day now? Did I really believe that it actually existed? My answer is “no” to all of these questions. I gave up looking for it. I no longer thought that by “not looking” for it that it would just appear. I even stopped imagining that my dream object could even exist, even in my fantasies.
Then I awoke to a different day. The wind blew over me oddly and shadows cast light in my eyes that made me close them, and I retreated inward into my mind, and followed the dark, crooked path that descends sharply into the crags of my heart. It was dark but I knew the way well. I could walk it with my eyes half-open, or on a moonless night and safely reach the windblown, hieroglyph etched cave that I hide from the world and my emotions inside of.
This night I saw someone’s face there. It was the face of an angel actually. Not one of God’s holy and victorious warrior angels, no, rather one of his warrior angels that had been beaten down in many, many battles. An angel that had come very close to forgetting that she actually was still an angel and a warrior, a being with the might of God’s blood running in her veins, the fire of his love beaming from her eyes and the lyrics of his voice being emitted through her writings, but defeat was brimming over the edges of her will to survive. She had become burnished by brutality yet at the core of her innocence flickered embers that yearned beyond belief for one last breath of hope, of love to find her and to resurrect her.
I saw her face first but it was her words that gave me the deeper sense of inner recognition. A feeling that stirred my heart with familiarity… it wasn’t strong enough in that moment though for me to have complete realization of who she was or what she would become to me. It would be weeks before my deeper awareness would awaken. As would hers. It was not what the words said that spoke to me, but rather the way that a miscellaneous gathering of sounds which could be read out of context had a melodious rhythm that looked artistic on the paper, eliciting a magical effect of playfulness that made me want to skip barefoot in dewy grass, alone. Because alone is my forte, it's what I know how to do, alone. If someone else had come along and skipped near me I would stumble and stutter, rubbing my eyes in momentary disbelief, confusion and well, get-away-from-me-ness.
This one’s words though, discordant yet familiar brought a haphazard rhythm in synch with my own hearts unique syncopation. i know you, don’t i. you will tell me who i am, won't you.
Then our dance began…
There is something I have wanted for a very long time. It has recently manifested itself in my life. Was I looking for it? Was I expecting to find it any day now? Did I really believe that it actually existed? My answer is “no” to all of these questions. I gave up looking for it. I no longer thought that by “not looking” for it that it would just appear. I even stopped imagining that my dream object could even exist, even in my fantasies.
Then I awoke to a different day. The wind blew over me oddly and shadows cast light in my eyes that made me close them, and I retreated inward into my mind, and followed the dark, crooked path that descends sharply into the crags of my heart. It was dark but I knew the way well. I could walk it with my eyes half-open, or on a moonless night and safely reach the windblown, hieroglyph etched cave that I hide from the world and my emotions inside of.
This night I saw someone’s face there. It was the face of an angel actually. Not one of God’s holy and victorious warrior angels, no, rather one of his warrior angels that had been beaten down in many, many battles. An angel that had come very close to forgetting that she actually was still an angel and a warrior, a being with the might of God’s blood running in her veins, the fire of his love beaming from her eyes and the lyrics of his voice being emitted through her writings, but defeat was brimming over the edges of her will to survive. She had become burnished by brutality yet at the core of her innocence flickered embers that yearned beyond belief for one last breath of hope, of love to find her and to resurrect her.
I saw her face first but it was her words that gave me the deeper sense of inner recognition. A feeling that stirred my heart with familiarity… it wasn’t strong enough in that moment though for me to have complete realization of who she was or what she would become to me. It would be weeks before my deeper awareness would awaken. As would hers. It was not what the words said that spoke to me, but rather the way that a miscellaneous gathering of sounds which could be read out of context had a melodious rhythm that looked artistic on the paper, eliciting a magical effect of playfulness that made me want to skip barefoot in dewy grass, alone. Because alone is my forte, it's what I know how to do, alone. If someone else had come along and skipped near me I would stumble and stutter, rubbing my eyes in momentary disbelief, confusion and well, get-away-from-me-ness.
This one’s words though, discordant yet familiar brought a haphazard rhythm in synch with my own hearts unique syncopation. i know you, don’t i. you will tell me who i am, won't you.
Then our dance began…
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