Once upon a time, I was in
love.
I closed my eyes; wing
spread my arms, let the wind of the time be my friend and jumped off that cliff-unharnessed
headfirst. Those moments of free fall were the moments I was
in-synch with the universe. I was invincible. I was the wind and the water. The
butterflies chasing the golden rays. I was ethereal and crackling fire.
It was a beautiful
heart-breaking unclassifiable thing. This being. It was a living, breathing and feeding-on-me. Impervious to disaster and indifferent to dangers yet replete with both. This being. This me who had somehow survived whole, the ravages of time and growing up. The little girl with a wide eyes wonder and spirit of Gaia.
Like an echo of Emily
Dickinson's
"I chose this single star
From out the wide night’s numbers —"
I received a hand written note "like once in a lifetime,
meteorite...you"
Once upon a time, I was in Love...
I am in a constant struggle with my unsettled heart, for as long as I can remember; the war between the quiet within and the pandemonium without; knocking against that quiet, stealthily.
And,
before you know, it's a battlefield of racing, dangerous, benign, grandiose,
depressed electric impulses firing the synapses. All within. All under the
surface. I have implosion down as perfected art.
Being in time, fully present comes naturally to me. They say it's a good thing. Perhaps. And yet, when the memories crash. You can feel each of those electrical impulses all over again. Nostalgia is an island - you don't want to be deserted on.
January
ambled off in an insane turmoil, of world slowly going belly up with all
consuming chronic pains, wars, strife, virus, protests and the general mania
that dominates human society. And, I began re-learning to lean into my silence.
Very very painstakingly.
Gingerly
retracing the steps of the relationship I once used to be in.
With my
quiet. The silence.
The
3:33 AM dates with self now have a spirant quality to them.
And the ones
in the sun dappled winter afternoons are filled with chirping dragonflies.
Copyright © Neer