Say Hello

I love the way you dream
Full & rich & thick
like the scent of fresh ground coffee beans
bold
grabbing me up in the unapologetic aromas
of your enthusiasm
carrying me along
daring me to feel it
as though if you just
think it intensely enough
I will get swept up
and dream it too
You may not be wrong.
There is a lot going on
in the world of my emotions
things that precurse your arrival
But I am very susceptible to marketing.

Doppelganger

And you.
I know you... or part of you
and you know me... or part of me
pieces of us recognize each other
like looking in a mirror
Doppelganger speaks
stubborn pride
fire
passion
fierce and silent pain
strength
knowledge of ages
something deep & timeless & knowing
that you just can't explain
knowing about people
and need
We both know how love
can just spring to life
unbidden
how wanting is endless
and reassurance aches
poignant
necessary
how most often loving is
just that millisecond off
over and over through centuries
and yet

we both believe just enough
in the one in thousands of times
that it's just that millisecond on
even while we wrap our logic
around probability
some stubborn tiny spark in our souls
whispers
possibility. magic. forever.
I don't love you
now
I ache with knowing how that feels
with knowing how hope hurts
even while expectation nods as though it knew
how wanting fills you like water
and more, with knowing how
knowing that one will survive through
disappointment hurts more
a lifetime more
I know how bleakness & empty
stretch most painfully forward
into an eternity of tomorrows
Yet all I can offer you right now
is logic
Any passion I felt.. I feel..
- Oh, yes, I felt it -
is banked
buried under heaps of ash so deep
I don't know if embers for you still burn
Or how deeply they are buried
I cannot gauge their fire
Desire... affection... need...
Vital things, needing things,
I can't give them to you.
now
even when I know how & why you need them

It is cold logic I have... cold comfort
about how simple being together is so easy
in the few moments we've had
more of those - with no expectations -
would be a lovely way to begin to stretch time
I could give you those small easy moments
if you were here... at least those
easy to talk.. and that's no small thing
easy to touch...
and you wanting me.. no small thing either
being brave enough to say so
and brave enough to hear no
we could be oh so prickly stubborn might not work
yet it could be such an interesting adventure
possibilities lie divergent: cold, stony
rich & full
I am certain, not ever uninteresting

But once simple passion & desire
go beyond.. to love... well,
the tentacles of love that I grow
grow deep. They are not plug & play
and the people I let in, I let in deep
so deep there is no bottom
fathoms upon fathoms of caring
they intertwine, all the different sorts of them
one kind of love twisting into the next
until separating them becomes impossible
that deep, & I never stop wanting them
never stop needing them there needing me back
Easier to never feel one or another kind of love
if it's going to go away,
and it hasn't been so long ago
that I hoped.. again... in something that would never go away
that it would grow a lifetime - blooms & thorns together
but green & growing & full of all the sorts of magic
we have been pouring into it
Funny how fear begats fear
How asking for something
stating what you need
so often gives you
exactly the opposite of what you ask
not funny-ha-ha, of course

Perhaps I fear for nothing,
and then sureness in what I've already invested
might return
providing you & I more fragrant paths
but time ticks
Pendulum heavy swings back... and forth..
scores of shallow slices weeping bits of self
and with each swish, I hear more loudly
the ever more desperate beat of my heart
in the darkness of this silence
which surrounds me ever more deeply
the voices I hear, beloved as they are
are not the one I need, nor asked for here

If I find
that which I am most afraid of
A gardener's nightmare, to trim one thorny
beautiful delicate branch of caring
away from the twisting mass...
I had a rose bush in my yard
which produced the most beautiful blooms
Old, many canes
all twisted together
I tried to save it, when witches broom
unexpected
blighted one thrusting attempt at the light
More than just my skin bore the tale
Of that desperate attempt to
tear out one bit that wasn't working
And all those scratches, sweat, pain
didn't save it. The virus is inexorable
in its destruction
Finally, I had to cut it down
Next, I will have to tear the roots out of the very ground
Let ground lie fallow
Before I can try again

If I find
that which I am most afraid of
I won't have anything to give you
to mirror this precious passion you throw at me
for I don't know how long. Perhaps long.
I could not trust again so soon
Could not let footsteps no matter how tender
well intentioned drop upon the raw nerve endings
of a once more freshly severed soul
It's not fair of me to say wait.. to say love me anyway
to say hope... to ask you to keep battering away
on only a spark of possibility
to take friendship on a hope & a dare
when you are as bold and clear as I
that friendship alone is not the thing
for which you roll your dice
I can't even promise it could grow
once the ground healed and became
something once again that can support life
I see the possibilities you see
I know
and in knowing, I know I cannot promise
falsely
And I know... I think... that if I were tossed
the same rotten plum
I'd have the same tone of finality
I heard in your voice, carefully controlled
tinged with the same seed of doubt
yet grimly holding onto the same stubborn kernel of what if
still glimmering somewhere in hope
I myself would most likely
begin to kill hope, put away possibility,
drown the possible future in nothing & stillnesss
until it quit its muffled screaming.
I have spent too much of my life choking the life
out of unreturned hopes & dreams
Thinking of it again... doing it again churns my stomach

But as much alike as we are
We are not the same
What will you do, since I want very much
to offer you something
and yet have so little
know nothing, am getting nowhere
and cannot begin to promise
the everything you hope for?

Silent

You learn
to cry in silence
so that the
things that hide in the dark
cannot find you

If you breathe
long deep breaths
the deep racking sobs
sink into your stomach
and are absorbed
your shoulders may shake
But who can see them
where there is no lightness?
It's ok for tears to course
hot & silent
down your cheeks
pooling in the corners of your mouth
absorbed into your hair
and splattering tiny rivulets
into the crease between your breasts
Tears are silent
It is only your soul that screams
And who can hear that?
Except, of course
For the things that hide in the dark
But if you're silent
If you make no sound
Or only the tiniest whimper escapes
They might only leer at you
Menacingly
But keep to their own shadows
Until you cry out loud
An evil truce of sorts
A game of pounce
Poe would be delighted

And as a bonus
Once you've learned
this skill...
As an adult,
You won't wake your children
or, if it so happens,
the person sleeping beside you.
or walking beside you -
a different sort of sleeping

Form Follows Function

Will you be there?
In the endless darkness
When the raw edges of my soul
creep from under their thin protection
From the veneer of strength
the determination that gets one through a day

Will you be there?
when, uncalled,
unable to keep it locked inside any longer
my soul reaches out into the space around me
for warmth, solidity
to both give and receive comfort
reassurance

Form follows function
It is an infinitely precious space
a priceless gift to share it
a kind of Trust
that can be garnered no other way
something... delicate
unique
unfurls in the endless hours of the night
when dreams creep and soar and stalk
when fears and fantasies
vie to play the stage

But will you be there?
In the hours of day
One can argue
that it should make no difference
that close.. and love.. and trust
should care not a whit
at what degree Sol sits

But I'm there,
in that endless darkness with myself
where honesty takes a different sort of tumble
where the adult
can acknowledge the child inside
the piece of self that never grows up
cradle it, nurture it
soothe its fears
There are things left in the dark
and there are corners deep enough to get lost in
Dark corners that hold things
Far less pleasant than warm lips
things that if they capture you alone
can suck your soul dry

I'm there,
and in the darkness around me
I know the difference
as those raw edges of self reach for warmth
the difference
between feeling it there
soul borrowing flesh and finding solidity
hand touching warmth
legs intertwining
shift of space, respoon
believe.
Embers of desire glowing in the ash
that could be fanned to flame and fire
that could burn away the dark
a little while longer
Argue in Sol's illumination what you will -
I know
the difference between those miracles
and finding in that dark only... nothing
confirmation
of an aching silence

Empty.
You know it too --
You know:
Function follows form.
With nothing there to keep it
No warm breath to whisper
in its inhale exhale rhythm
"safe"
Hope drains out into the night
like tears in a wilderness
unseen unknown unheard
Soon I will be as empty
as the space around me.
A target for the things that
wait in the dark
and We will be a dry wisp
a husk, a hull discarded
holding only fragile memory
no protection at all

in fact,
memory
holds its own sort of blade
can slice the heart that holds it
often it is memory itself
that hides in that endless darkness
with malicious intent

Function follows form
Form follows function
Circuitous pattern:
What to be
Who to be
and How
and there... there is an intimate path
to places in our souls
that can be reached no other way
Will you be there?
Or do I walk those particular
oh, so private paths
face the darkness
yet again, once more even more
Alone?

Hesitation

I hesitate to write
I hestiate to feel
To see, to blink, to breathe
and yet
I can stop none of these things
time marches inexorably,
incrementally onward
silent and blank
I try to keep all those things
still in nothingness
struggling for Zen
but walls & floodgates
barriers
fences
hold only so much
before they fail
give way
too much too many to hold me in
I don't know if I'm weaker than I used to be
or if these things are simply richer & more robust
more complex
more important
struggling themselves for life, for themselves

I hesitate
to write, to feel
to see, blink, breathe
to speak
to trust, to love... no, not that,
but to believe.
And so the pen spills first
inky river etching riverbanks
you never knew were there
drawing waters deep still
silent, cool & comforting
and shallow, rocky
troubled

I hesitate
to feel, to blink
to see... breathe... to write
And yet hold it as I may
with that inevitable breath
comes the 'must' to write
poor as they may be
a million words
capturing only the tiniest sliver
of torrid complexity
Missing huge chunks of important us
in the struggle to gleam
a single nuance
to express even a single tiny thing
that can reach in & touch inside
that can slay dragons
that can grow green & growing
glowing golden things

Do you not want to see?
Close your eyes then, love.
Life takes us quickly past
Blink but a moment or three
and the things you don't want to see
will be gone
... or at least gone past
and you can perhaps forget
things you almost never knew

Only a Moment

I thought this deserved a spot of its own...

Only a Moment

I brushed back the hair from her brow, again and again,

and looked to her smile for a reason, and found only circumstance, and history, and coincidence.

and regardless, she looked back at me like the man I was certain I could be, and suddenly the world was a different place.

--Posted by LostJohnny1978 to ~~Arachne's Loom~~ at 1/03/2007 07:42:49 AM

An Eternity

You capture me
With a smile deep in your eyes
Sun and moon together shine
You transport me
Both yesterday and tomorrow
disappear in your warmth
You touch me
And from your touch
spring warm summer hillsides
studded with flowers
and perfumed by the winds
You hold me
And from your arms
comes the warmth
of a raging fire on
the safest hearth
Snug against the winter
winds of life
that threaten to carry me away
Your lips, so absent, beckon
sweetest water
under an arid sky
Words whisper between us
silent as moonlight
They flow, wordless
Yet full of meaning
I strain to hear them
in vain
with these woman's ears
and hear only a deafening
heartrending silence
Until you steal close
surround me again
and from both darkness and sorrow
I hear you once again
Wordless whispers
Only my soul can hear
When once you have persuaded her
to listen.

2006 Customer of the Year Award

It has always quietly amazed me how easily Mum & Gra attract happy people, & make cranky ones into happier ones. I comment all the time to people (who think, I think, that I'm just making it all up) about how they can walk into anywhere (I particularly notice restaurants) & are either greeted like old friends, or walk out with new ones. There are places all over the country with people who spend days in hard work for little pay, dealing with customer after customer, hundreds of people passing through their lives on a regular basis. And yet, some magic happens when Mum & Gra appear. Faces light up, the mood gets better.. and the service, too! Let me tell you... Graham's notions of good service aren't in the least slack, either - we may have hastened his sordid decline into the sloppy Americanized English language, but he has certainly retained his high standards where service is concerned. Somehow, he almost always gets it.

It really isn't much... they just always have a ready smile, a small familiar way of speaking to a person that makes them seem like... well... a person. I don't know that I've ever in my life seen them look at another person as though their only purpose in life is to serve like an automaton. But it makes such an ENORMOUS difference! I have personally experienced the restaurant phenomena with them... and a year later, gone back to the same place, happened to get the same waitress... and she remembered them. Utterly amazing. They are the quintessential representation of the pebbles that make those ongoing ripples in the proverbial pond.


2006 Customer of the Year Award - Morning Star Cafe in Salisbury, IL.

Well... here's proof in the pudding so you all don't think I'm just spinning tales. Today, they stopped by a little cafe in Salisbury, IL (NOT their hometown) that they visit from time to time on their travels. Completely out of the blue, they were presented with this little scroll signed by all the waitresses announcing that they have been chosen the 2006 "Customers of the Year" & it was accompanied by a whole fresh homemade rhubarb pie. Probably ice cream, too, if I know them.

If there are things we inherit from our parents, whether it be via nurture or nature, I can't think of much I'd like to receive & retain from mine more than this: the ability to attract & retain good people to surround us, & make the lives I touch - even briefly - just a little brighter.

Beleaguered by a Plea

You are my partner
hear my pain
I lay it here between us
not an accusation
nor to damn nor flay
but in supplication
in utter trust
That we between us
can fix any grievous wound

If you feel daggers,
attacked..
it is only the sharp edges
of my wounded soul
I have been unable to heal
on my own
& I come to you begging
in sure knowledge
& trust that
you can heal my pain
that together we can right
whatever is wrong

If my tears wound your soul
no more so does your
wounded soul bring my tears.
We are one
I am yours
Let us heal us
together.

~~ more napkin scribbles, Nov/Dec 2006

12/26/2006 -- Not Muggles, but Middles

There it is. I have hunted after it, elusive. Chased it as it skittered from my sight around a corner just a handsbreadth away. Tonight, I looked askance, and there it was! Why is being in the middle truly so much different than any other place? It is, you know. And for some reason, almost everyone avoids it. Everyone wants to be on the edge of things - included, but able to bail - gets edgy when they're forced to the middle, no matter how pleasant the middle may be made. And Oh, the middle may be pleasant indeed! So why? Why back away from it as though it holds something worth fearing?

Because in the middle, there is no escape. You are always and only at the mercy of those on either side of you. If you are lucky, it is a tender mercy. They at any time have the power to turn towards or away from you. Include or shun you either deliberately or with stunning indifference. It takes courage to stand in the middle day after day. (and a certain willingness to glut oneself in pleasant indulgence.. but courage too!) And perhaps a certain sublimation of self as well. Others can turn to reach away from the center for the peace & darkness of nothingness whenever the need for a breath overtakes them. But in the middle, you must be prepared to meet and match all that comes your way... or does not. And while you can accept it from others, there is no nothingness towards which you can actively turn for silence and surcease at times of your choosing. Your only real choice is to turn towards another. When in the middle, even the choice of not-deciding a direction is really no choice, because not-deciding assumes the position of openness to all.

Of course.. you can just absent yourself completely. So I guess I'm wrong: there is a choice - in. or out. There just is no inbetween. Ironic, that! That for the person in the middle, there can be no inbetween. No place to put that one-foot-on-the-floor-ready-to-run. Only a certainty that you are either out... or in.

Bah! Ramblings of a madwoman!

Milkweed Pods & Memories

Out of all the Christmas ornaments that come out every year, my favorite are the milkweed pods. I can remember Mom sending me down the road in Decembers past in search of the milkweed that grew in the ditches alongside our rural roads. Teardrop-shaped, grey, & rough on the outside when dry, they split into halves & inside is a child’s handful of uber-soft, silky threads, each with a tiny seed attached. In the way of nature, the wind will catch the threads, lofting the tiny seeds into the air so that they can go, spread, find fertile soil to propagate. The pods halves, clean & dry, make pretty little shells for small simple vignettes. I have several, the background of each half carefully painted, maybe a little lace or ribbon framing the edges, and a small tiny-tree ornament glued securely inside the frame of the pod. My most favorite of all is a rather odd, squat-shaped pod with the background painted green & a tiny bit of gold ribbon framing the edges. Inside, Mum glued a small bit of moss & on it, tiny legs folded underneath as it curls into its snug safe haven is a tiny baby deer. Every single time I look at it I get a soft sense of adoration & a strange sense of security. I couldn’t find it when I got the ornaments out this year – I don’t know if maybe the kids put it on the tree & I will find it when the season is over… or if I put it somewhere special for safe keeping & that box simply did not come down – but even it’s only in my memory, that one ornament does more for me in terms of heralding the season than any other bit of fancy to grace any wall, tree, or ground anywhere else.

For some reason, I don’t remember actually making any of these – perhaps I was too young the last time Mum made milkweed pod ornaments to actually help with the paint or the glue or the scissors, I’m not sure. But I wonder if, when Mum’s email today said that she was making milkweed pods, she was thinking of making a bit of fancy for each of the grandkids… carrying past into future, in her own special way. I hope so. I like the thought that someday B will find within her the same sense of being loved & loving from the same reminders that trigger those things for me. We do, after all, when our bodies wear out & we are gone from this world, go on in the minds and hearts of those who love us.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving...

As far back as I can legitimately remember, the holidays included sucking at least one other family up into whatever the big holiday meal is. When my parents remodelled the house, one room became the dining room with a beautiful big table that comfortably seats 8 & can expand to 12 if we're really friendly. If there were too many, people just spilled over onto the kitchen table & maybe even to an extra put up for the occasion in the living room. Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas -- each of those holidays meant someone, some family, would be joining us for the meal, the day, the evening, whatever it was. Maybe all of the above! When I was really little, the crowd always included my paternal grandparents, whom I adored (Grandpa died in the early 80's) & who lived across the road from us, but even then there was almost always at least one family other than ours. It was not only a sharing of bounty, but a wallowing in the golden glow that good people & good friends & family can build around you. It was a reaffirmation of connection & belonging, and a sharing of all you had - not just the stuff, but the people, too.

When I was in college, my parents were going through their divorce & subsequent nastiness (particularly inside of me), & while I continued to go home for various holidays, I either did a WHOLE lot of bouncing around & sharing my friends' holiday traditions, or else I drug them home with me for company. One year in particular, I attended no less than TEN Thanksgiving meals in a single weekend. Whew. Over the years, there was never any question but that I could bring home a friend or two to share in the fun... in fact, there were a couple of friends that joined us more than once & were eventually told they would always be welcome, whether I (snotty little shit that I was at the time) came home or not. Mum meant it, too -- she has always loved & welcomed interesting people. In the back of my mind, I always think maybe I'll come home some holiday & Joe or maybe Jan will show up on the doorstep, having taken Mum's invitation of years ago to heart with a grin & a sense of great goodwill. Guess I get the "collector's" habit from Mum -- I only hope it continues to develop, since I find the collecting of good people to be an interesting and very rewarding habit to have.

So for Thanksgiving, there would be much food preparation, with EVERYone firmly shooed OUT of the kitchen. I might be called upon to help set the table and put ice in the big brown blown-glass water glasses, but Mum did the food herself. Mostly, the kitchen doesn't have a lot of room for bodies, & she hated having people underfoot. Big turkey, stuffing, yeast rolls, mum's corn casserole, pumpkin & pecan pie, some sort of wine and - a must - Party Potatoes. There were always other bits that changed over the years as people contributed to the bounty, but those things were required. Once Graham came along, we added roasted new potatoes & Bisto gravy to the list of musts... mmmmm. This year, we had the addition of honest-to-goodness mince tarts & mince pie made by Cousin-Auntie-Linda :)

After stuffing ourselves silly, the adults always sat around the table talking for awhile. If the weather was beautiful, we might go for a walk down the road a piece somewhere in there, & the afternoon almost ALWAYS included a nap for me :D (I'm a whuss - too much food, too many people. I love people around, but all those minds/personalities clamouring around me wears me out fast.) If Randy&Arlis were in attendance (like this year), we would at some point waddle into the next room - the big room - and gather around the piano to sing whatever sort of songs the holiday called for while Randy tickled the keys for a couple of hours. Over the years there may or may not have been additional accompaniment - guitars, flutes, trumpets, trombones... this year Todd quite credibly joined the fray with a guitar Tony had left behind on their last trip to America, and there is nothing I love better than some soft acoustic guitar! If day stretched into evening, or if the company wasn't musically inclined, then there would always be games of some sort drug out of the games closet. The ones I remember most charitably were Pictionary and some musical tune game (NOT Hummables) we played with Badgers & Muninis gathered around the table all those years ago. Finally, either with or without the ragged remnants of people who had not yet gone home, we might (oh, cross my fingers, please!) clear off the table & get out a puzzle, then spend the next couple of hours hunched silent over the pieces as we tried to turn cacaphony into sense. Please note: Puzzles at Mum's house are not cardboard Springbock mockeries, but real wooden puzzles that have survived the ages & are quite often cut with figurals and diabolical colour-line cuts and odd edges to thwart us. Thththhrhrrowrrrll !!

The last few years have brought about the entrance of "Christmas" on the day after Thanksgiving. My sister & I - who rarely agree, have together decreed that "Real" Christmas only truly happens at Mum's house in the red room. So since my sister & her family have had difficulty getting off work & making it the several hundred miles to Mum's house for both Christmas and Thanksgiving, we moved Christmas up a bit, tree, stockings, presents & all. It's really mostly for the little ones now, but there's always some little bit for the older folks too. One thing in particular to note -- my Grandpa died over 25 years ago, but he's not yet missed a Christmas. It's getting harder & harder to do, & each year now I expect to be the last... but every year, somewhere in the piles of presents has appeared some little remembrance for me of my Grandpa. A picture, his pipe, a Thresher's button found in a corner, a Prince Albert tin.... Mum has to be racking her brain & ransacking the house by now, so many years have gone by. Sometimes I think he's up there somewhere nudging some little thing into her hands at just the right moment. He was something, my grandpa - I know it not only because I remember him (as much as a kid can), but because Mum thought so too. She would not have possibly been able to keep this up over the years if she did not. In fact, as much as the two of us are alike, I'd venture to say that she had more of a connection with my Grandpa than she did with Dad. In a wholely different way, of course, but I think they must have touched souls, and I think the ache of his absence has never really left.

This year at Thanksgiving, we celebrated Thanksgiving at Mum's the night before. The day of, we (my sister & I & co) had lunch as a family with Dad & Verna, then for supper we all (the D&V side) trouped over to Badger's where we had been invited to share their family's Thanksgiving. That meal felt like the "real" Thanksgiving to me, with not only our blood relatives, but another family to share with as well... particularly since the other family in question is one I count as my own. After dinner, Jessica & I, & later Martin, were able to cozy up & chit chat... older adults in the one room, kids in another, & us inbetween. Time brings a surety of continuance that nothing else can replace, and as we sat there chatting in a house Jessica & I giggled in so many years ago, listening to OUR kids giggling and playing in the next room, I felt the tradition & the years wind & twine & bind us together in some sort of magic nothing but years and friendship can do.

Aside from those perfect moments that evening, the rest of the Thanksgiving holiday I very much felt the lack of the rest of my family. The way the rest of the world works be damned... in my world, family is comprised far more of the people I've taken into my heart & with whom I've filled my life than those whose blood runs through my veins. In years past it has been enough to touch base with them by phone, but this year that was not nearly enough for me. It was almost a physical ache to have two huge chunks of my family not present - I felt ripped & wrenched apart & torn over every single one of the miles that separated us. Each part has its own (blood) family traditions and obligations to fulfill, all in separate directions, but next year (Good Lord willin' & the creek don' rise), Stacy & John & I & anyone else who wants to help are planning to offer a Thanksgiving feast in our neck of the woods & intend to invite all our respective bits of family... and THEIR respective bits of family... to join us. Maybe they will, & maybe they won't.. and who knows what the next year will bring -- sometimes the thought of how far we might all fall apart in a whole year's time scares the skin off me. I know to accomodate, we'll have to do it on Saturday or something rather than Thanksgiving day itself... but I've learned over the years to move the day of the celebration, too. I would dearly love to have all my family - blood as well as loved, and all the people they love in turn - under one roof at one time at least once before we lose any of them. Mostly you only get that at weddings & funerals, but I'd really rather avoid the one, don't see the other coming, and Thanksgiving seems like a great time to make it happen.

Marco...... !

A Con to Remember

I think I expected him to be just a little rough. Maybe not "rough", but strong. Demanding. Insistent. He had that look about him. He looked like he could handle pretty much anything he might encounter. Why I became what he encountered I don't know, although I'd like to find out! What he was wearing did nothing to hide muscles that rippled smoothly under the thin cotton. But that self-assured cocky sort of air he threw into the room has always begged me to pay attention. It's a challenge thrown into the air that I cannot resist meeting - whether to stomp it into oblivion or goad it further with cheeky humour I never know til we're in it - but it lights a spark in my eyes. I have not yet been able to resist that siren's call when it enters my space.

I wasn't wrong. He was strong enough to match me.. meet me.. Stronger. In a frantic fight or flight I'd lose hands down. He could pin me solid without even working very hard at it. Better, there was a light in his eyes and a lilt to his speech that made me think he could pin me just as easily with a thought. And passionate! I know there was music playing: loud, loud music that makes your heart re-beat to its rhythm instead of your own. But I don't remember the music. He had a rhythm all his own that synched with the sound & then turned it into something else. Something that demanded I listen to it. Respond to it. Further it. The back and forth between us was furious and demanding and passionate and skillful... and yet never out of control. Riding an edge at times, perhaps, but never truly out of control. Either one of us could slide into that curve, and if there perhaps was once or twice a seconds' quiver, a waver on the edge of something more - something less.. chosen... it always came back to here & now & what was acceptable.

He rallied to the mood and the situation. If I threw aggression at him, he caught it, returned it, amplified it, then brought it back around to rest in something different. Then turned something different into segue to another round. If I softened, he became support. If I led, he followed, and when I wanted to do nothing but follow his lead, he led. If he blinked more than once, if he hesitated when another joined the dance, I didn't see it. I didn't feel it in his hands or in his body or in the bite he left proof of on my shoulder. I'm not doing justice to those moments, not by a long shot, but they'll have to wait for another pen I think. I didn't feel any hesitation when he said goodbyes either. Wonderful goodbyes! I don't know that I can explain it properly, but goodbye that night felt more like a "hey, I'll see ya tomorrow" from someone I've known for years. None of the clinging wretchedness that might accompany such an encounter. Not the slightest demand that things go further than they had, and yet also no desire to run, to escape, to begin regret before our skin had even cooled. We both seemed perfectly content - at least for that evening - with exactly what we had. Riding high, adrenalin pumping, neither sated yet still in perfect grace. How often does that happen?

What surprized me most were the moments when I found his lips not demanding, but sweet. Soft. Kind. A moment's press of sweet innocence standing out in glaring relief. A beacon of something gentle surprizing me quietly amid the cacaphony all around: loud music, darkness, lights strobing randomly in bright irrhythmic pulses, bodies gyrating wildly in all beats, combinations, degrees of intimacy. Pianissimo delicately insinuated itself where it could be most quietly heard somewhere in the depths of myself... even if I wasn't listening very closely for the moment. Even when I fail to listen with every part of my brain in the moment, on recall I always hear tiny things I may have failed to fully appreciate earlier. Tiny notes of something out of the ordinary. Eclectic perhaps. Complex. A rare vintage.

I thrill to that particular combination. Strong, hard, gentle, sweet, demanding, ruthless, intimate, daring, vulnerable, intimidating, kind, giving, innocent, knowing. Saved & damned all at the same time. S pulled out a book this week & made me read a paragraph of it. There was a statement in there that read, 'men drive on passion. Denouement.' However, "it is not passion that drives a woman to the edge, but the promise of passion." It is. It is the journey when the journey is worth taking. Knowing one can be completely held at another's mercy, and simultaneously knowing that mercy is there. Ultimately saved even in the midst of a headlong plunge into hedonism. Being held safe by danger itself. Being able to release yourself fully to the machinations of another, knowing control is yours at a breath when you want it. I love everything inbetween & this is no exception. When I say I want it all, it is not an understatement.

*************
My copies are finally done, & I need to pack them up & head home, pick up B, get her to bed, make myself ready for tomorrow's training sessions. So many thought fragments scribbled on paper, & so few that have become something even moderately readable in all these hours! Must do more soon... I need to write them before I live more... before they're lost.

Today I am wiped out. Exhausted. Washed clean of any desire for passion or excitement or intrigue. I feel flat & grey with the aftermath of all the things my mind conceives... all the things after which my body yearns. One can only yearn so much before you must either peak or rest. The house is silent, and the silence wraps itself around me & insulates me from the world. H called this morning & I didn't pick up. For a live person to intrude on this bubble of silence & solitude this day would be grating. Unacceptable. It would pierce this bubble that surrounds me, that muffles the world.

Yet the desire.. the need to spill events & perceptions onto paper churns those moments of perception 'round & 'round inside me. It tells me I cannot feel again - cannot go into another round of what if & wow! until I put something on paper. I am full to the brim with moments, and I cannot experience any more without writing or they will be gone. They will spill over the edge of me & be lost to a yesterday I can no longer remember. There is no more room for storage.

So I escape. I have copies to make for this week's training, and B is still safely ensconced @ J&S's, so it's into STL to the office to hide amid row upon row of grey cubicles. I'll jog back & forth across the entire floor (or floors, if necessary), making the copy machines work on what should be their day of rest. The building, designed to house hundreds of people, will be eerily silent, mostly dark. Empty except for the security guards and a stray odd person or two that will appear as startled as I should we run into one another. I might... just might... have time & silence enough to write. To pull enough of a single thought into coherence and empty it onto paper. Might.

Distance - 10/15/2006

Distance is only an illusion
In an electronic age

how true

that person sitting next to you
there! on that couch
on the bus
lying a breath away in that bed
might be as far away inside
as these bodies of ours are
right now
each separated by an unknown
infinite span of far too much
space

Distance
is as much an illusion
close up
as it is when things
are far away

come closer?
court danger... if you dare

I would be most interested
to learn
if your thoughts are
as intriguing
as your lips

Sagittarius

Anonymous said...
Lemmings, bad - Individuals good...You and your friends need a Sagittarius in your life...We are just about everywhere.
Saturday, October 14, 2006 5:31:36 PM
Anonymous said...
Alas, Gemini -- Sagittarius
Saturday, October 14, 2006 8:48:16 PM

I'm sure a Sagittarius in our lives would be most welcome! Of course... most interesting people that come along are welcome in this crowd. Interesting individuals are always made welcome in one way or another... (lemmings are interviewed on a case by case basis).

I was told very recently that to a Sagittarius, Gemini's are like crack. Like candy. Invigorating & addictive is how I heard that. Umm... & maybe that they taste good, too? heh. One can only hope!

Unfortunately, the Sagittarius that said that lives far enough away that this particular addictive Gemini shouldn't cause them any real dietary issues... did I say "unfortunately"?

Anyway... I have discriminating tastes for a Gemini. Just any old Sagittarius won't necessarily do. Who is this one? Identify yourself, rogue!

A Morning in Early September

It was erie this morning. Early morning mist obscured the trees in front of me as I sat at a stoplight. Brilliant ruby red, piercing in its clarity. Cars whipped by in front of me... like a corridor of reality cutting through another world. I was in that other world. All my fears, doubts, frantic things to do, work... all melted into the insubstantial nothingness of an imagined world. The real things.. the important things.. the vibrant, vital things were, of course, over there. Moving on. Rushing on without me down the highway, 90 degrees to where I was hovering in limbo. When the light turned green, had there been noone behind me, I might have simply stayed where I was, signal light blinking its fog-muted yellow into the mist. Clickclick. Claclick. Clickclick... til it simply wore itself out & stopped blinking. Limbo. Sweet, peaceful, nothing-is-required-of-you-you-don't-have-to-be-anywhere-anytime-anyplace-anyone-for-any-reason-don't-have-to-feel-anything-not-responsible-for-anything-anybody-noone's-mad-hurt-unhappy-ever limbo. Instead, with a deep sigh, I jumped into the stream and drove on. Re-engaged. The green light commanded me. The car behind me sent anxious, demanding waves of thought at me: Go! Go! Go, Amy. Join the other lemmings in their mad dash to whatever or wherever it is we're all going in such a gawdawful hurry.

A Morning's Thought

I woke up wanting you.

The new blanket lay against my skin
soft as fur
and for a brief moment I could imagine
it was the hair on your chest
lying soft against my breasts

I woke up wanting you all slow-like
Not fast, as I sometimes do
Sometimes I want you hard & quick
With intent flaring in your eyes
And a dare just there upon your lips
Passion either laughing or no,
But rough & tumble...
Devil take anyone who tries to stop you

But this morning, I wanted you slow
I wanted time to stop,
The world quit around us
I felt the blanket against my skin
And imagined it was the length of you,
Warm body heat... skin on skin...
shoulder to toe
I lay there soaking in the warmth, basking
for ever so long
And wanted

For this to be a morning where
you just can't quite put your finger on where
insensible sleep turns into touching
the tiniest of muscles twitch,
& you know the person next to you has engaged
yet so slow.. ever so slow
the movement towards one another could ache
with tension.. but not THIS morning
because the world is gone

there is no pressure to move.. to get up.. to go
anywhere
there are no children screaming elsewhere in the house
noone to feed or coddle or mediate over
there are no bills, no work, no schoolwork earlier forgotten
no alarm clock jangling nerves
we are not hungry, we do not have to pee
we feel clean and sweet of body and breath
the air is that perfect temperature
to allow covers or no, it does not matter
the light is nebulous - just enough to see by
but not enough to scream you must get up

Everything slides together & flows
and soon you find lips meeting, greeting
not even yet questing
just touching lightly in a soft hello

and fingertips brush lightly
soft as the hair on your arms.. your legs
from shoulders to toes they tiptoe
and caress and waken little bits of skin and self
to touch.. to warmth
We touch over all of ourselves
nooks & crannies & tiny indentions
imperfections become an interesting quest
learning all over again
all the tiny secrets of each other's skin
and how the muscles play together
and where the soul connects
and on the way
find reminders of tiny places that wake shivers
tiny places that make your nipples
crinkle in response

Eventually
lips follow fingertips
butterfly caresses all over
any intent still so far away as to be irrelevant
If the world intruded there would yet be no
frustrated abrasion of need
and yet
there is a happy dawning desire on the horizon
and we look and know and move towards it in accord

We have time
to lay side by side
legs and hands entwined
where I can play with your hair
and explore hands, arms
whatever skin we can reach
maybe we talk ever so softly about nothings
or maybe we just listen carefully
to the things our hands have to say
our bodies speak loudly
if we shut up long enough to listen

We have time
to lay with me behind you
breasts pressing against your back
where my hands can roam your chest
your stomach
cup you gently and tease that soft plateau
between stomach and thigh
then switch
to lay with you behind me
where your hands can roam
cup my breasts & softly tease the nipples
slide across every curve and find
every hollow which pleases you
where I can feel you pressing softly
against my back, my butt, my thighs
as you grow tumescent

Over many many ticks and lengths of time
touching becomes more intent
fingers begin to do less fluttering and more caressing
A nipple is tweaked
a fingernail rakes softly across your thigh
still softly... but with intent
Later, they might dig deep in passion

Later, who knows where we might go
I want to hear you moan
and watch your hands clench the sheets...
or the bed... or me...
You will smile to watch me writhe
twisting under your ministrations
wrenching tiny mewls from my lips
and stealing them away with yours

Tiny intakes of breath will become gasps
of surprize, of pleasure
We will twine together in so many ways
We may forget where one of us begins
and the other leaves off
I want to feel your weight full above me
where I cannot escape
where you look at me with a pirate's gleam in your eye
and know I am at what little mercy you may show
I want to look down upon you
and hold you captive
the length of you my playtoy
all your great strength now mine to command

and all of it... all of it
begins in that slow morning something
and there is no time, no world, no intent,
no people, no inhibitions,
no concerns, no second-guessing, no nothing
that interrupts us
When we finally emerge
we will be surprized. a little stunned
to find the world went on without us
Whether it's an hour... or days...
or maybe even years later
For us there is no time
nothing that matters
but this touch of skin on skin
this exploring of self

Our bodies have so much to say
if we just shut up long enough to listen.

~~09/24/06

08/28/06 - Hotel

When I finally drug my exhausted self & fourteen miscellaneous bags & suitcases (because I didn't take time to pack well & just tossed it all in in a big twisted mess) up to the 14th floor of the hotel, I dumped them all in one great relieved pile. Then I hunted for the A/C & turned it to some temperature that would take the slightly humid 'warm' out of the air and instead kiss my skin with cool pleasure. Half asleep, I found the bathroom I'd been wanting increasingly badly for the last hour or so of the gawdawful long, rainy drive. Then I stripped off the clothes that had car wrinkles firmly creased into my body, closed my eyes & took a moment to relish the feel of the air finally on my skin... I hadn't slept naked in three days, & with the lack of sleep & the drive down, I was starting to feel like they were never coming off again. Horrible thought! I brushed my teeth & checked briefly & bleary-eyed in the mirror to ensure that I really hadn't grown the guy-investigator-who-hasn't-slept-in-three-days stubble I was sure ought to be there. Then, and only then, did I stumble back into the room & stop to really pay attention to the bed. Pay attention? Salivate. Worship.

The bed was enormous. And it was a SEA of white. Crisp clean white cotton sheets over some soft down poof of a mattress, covered by layers and layers of sheets like layers of some Italian confection. Over all that was a thick down-filled comforter crisp with white on white pinstripes that tried sternly (but in vain) to argue that it was really far more practical than those large soft waves of heaven appeared to be. After a few moments of pure anticipatory appreciation, I threw myself into it and was enveloped. I was swimming in white & soft cotton. Mounds of clean white pillows in all sorts of shapes & sizes tumbled into haphazard piles that called coyly to come tussle amongst them. Giggles would be muffled or slip out only a little here & there as little squeals of happiness tend to do. Warmth and innocence and passion amongst a riot of clouds. Mounds of soft white. A maze of poof.

I squirrled around, swimming in a blissful sea of soft, finding cool spots... warm spots... every time I moved, the next spot was just as good as.. no, better.. than the last. Heaven. And it made me want to squirm deeper, how freakin' much room does this bed have, anyway? Every wiggle found another little pocket, another new pillow, another soft welcoming twist of sheets & comforter that seemed to caress my skin at every flex & twist. The fancy took me that somewhere in all that fluff there could very well be a whole 'nother person, just lost in the maze. If I just chased him 'round the bed a bit more, we'd find one another. Or perhaps he was chasing me? Yes, much nicer.

I squirmed more, searching for something illusive, and out of the mounds of fluff my own pink striped pillow appeared, and from it wafted the unmistakable scent of a man. Ah. See? I know that scent. I knew he was here somewhere. I sighed, buried my nose & breathed deeply, sinking back into the mountains of sheets & pillows on that ridiculously sinful bed. I breathed again, feeling both desire and contentment roil in a slow flush that invaded me, warmed through & took possession of me like sleepy sunshine on a summer's day. Damn. I lay there contemplating that sensation & smiled, appreciating both the goodness and the frustration in all the thoughts that stop being thoughts & melt away into feelings & sensations as mountainous & unexplored & inviting as this sea of white. Then I breathed in the scent of him one more time - deeply - completely - before I turned out the light & snuggled in to sleep, pillow held tight in my arms. In only a very few hours, day would begin.

Conflicts 08 10 2006

"How are you?" she asks
and I can't answer. Because that answer
has so many facets I can't begin to hit them all in a few moments
and even when I try, I know I miss the good things
They become eclipsed by the not-so-good things,
even if there are more good than bad.

But I found myself thinking about how to answer
(because I knew she would not let it go)
and I wrote.
and she asked again
and again
and today, I wrote some more, added to what was there
altered only a little
and here is what I have:

Just for today (I wrote some time ago)
I am overwhelmed.
I feel beat upon by the emotional tides
that have been tossing me
... us.
All of us.

Sometimes it takes me by surprize -
swimming strongly, perfectly comfortable in these waters
Then one wave, one single wave
coming out of nowhere from the side, blind side,
Swamps me, washes over me
Gasping for air, I take in water
& suddenly
I am no longer swimming
but floundering
Then every wave, no matter how small
or even how expected
Becomes a very dangerous thing.

Danger comes at me from every direction:

I am in a new team
with many unknown elements & people
& they are far away
I am - sort of - part of an old team
where my role is changing
but not yet defined
Here left out on accident, there on purpose.
Many meetings & issues where I don't quite know where to stand
My sense of "belonging" & sense of who I am & what I offer
is in flux. Is not stable.

I finally have a feeling that I am doing what I do BEST..
yet not certain this is what I SHOULD be doing
on ALL I should be doing
to do this job.
That I must be missing some vital piece of this puzzle
& it will hurt me... sooner or later.

I am surrounded by family - family who has chosen one another
yet I am alone in Love.
Possibility itself has turned into something hard to think about.
I am shown affection,
but do not feel confident that it is something I can count on..
lean on.
What I think is.. what if it is only my own illusions? Again?
These affections melt away, change, disappear,
become something second best
tarnished, not enough, not good enough...
depending on who or what is near or happening

We have had no still, quiet, happy time together
--- without undercurrents ---
since four of us shared a morning.
And I don't see how we can have that again
Anytime soon.
This sea is too unruly, and the rocky shores far too close
for anyone's comfort.

I always want.
It has been so long since I had anyone long enough
To enable trust that they would still be there -
tomorrow, next week, next year.
I only vaguely remember a time
when I did not want.. need... desire...
in eventual, if not immediate, futility
The sort of surety I offer
Doesn't seem to be attractive to people to whom I'm attracted
They just want to play, chase, conquer
& let tomorrow bring whatever new toy it may

I feel stuck in a pattern I cannot escape
I meet men over and over again
who introduce desire between us
acknowledge it
begin to explore it...
& then take it away.
Disappear just as I begin to get used to
the possibilites opening before us.
And their disappearance has nothing to do with risk.
Except risks of the heart.
So it's not material decisions... therefore it must be me,
the core me: who I am, not what I have.
There must be something about who I am that is subpar
That they don't see until later.
Or else it's them... in which case I just have bad taste.

I have an overwhelming need
To take care of my friends. My family.
This balances itself precariously against me taking care of me.
How can I do both of those things
When they come into direct conflict with one another?
They don't often, but when they do
I will always take the hit
Because that is the one thing I can always do
That I am in control of:
sacrificing myself
But this time, inside me, my heart screams
I've never heard it fight back at me before
It has always simply laid itself down
In quiet submission
to whatever conclusions seem logical to me

I am torn as a parent.
I love my daughter, I miss her when I am away (most of the time)
And yet she presents more of a challenge
than I feel I can handle -- well -- alone.
I question my own ability to rise to the challenge of her.
To do her justice
To be everything she needs.
No.. I KNOW I cannot be everything she needs
and I struggle to find people... elements...
That can shore us up where I am weak.

I feel more unsafe than I have ever felt in my life
Every time I head for the door,
My heart leaps a little into my throat,
Wondering if my car will still be there
Every time I come home
My heart leaps a little into my throat
That last block home is a nightmare
Wondering if while I was gone my home has been invaded
I wake sometimes in the middle of the night
Hear a sound
& My heart leaps a little into my throat
Wondering if that's just Cassandra on the counter again
or if someone is there, coming to
take my daughter...
or her innocence...
or her sense of safety too.

Hearing someone come in the house while I'm sleeping
Used to make my heart leap a little into my throat
For entirely different reasons -- good ones!
Reasons that were warm & safe & happy
& sometimes exciting
But that seems a desire for something that is lost to the past
Now there is noone here then
in the dark to lean on
But me
Suddenly I am not enough, even for myself
Which is scary in itself,
because I have ALWAYS been enough.

So just for today
I am overwhelmed.
I am floundering.
And I have found myself BROADCASTING
things I don't want to impose on everyone around me.
The depth of need & desire I feel sometimes
become so intense
I am afraid they will shine clearly from my eyes.
It's bad enough that they shine from my heart.
I am ashamed, both of feeling these things
& of not being able to control them
and then,
I am always afraid they will not be returned

Even in anger, I still desire..
perhaps more so.
Ask for what I need?
But I need it to come without asking!
To encompass & support & strengthen me
reassure me...

So for all these reasons
I have found times when I could not look at you.
I could not meet your eyes
With such tumult inside.
And not only you... Several of you!
People who have crawled so far into my heart
I can't anymore even conceive living a life
without you in it

Sometimes when I seem the farthest away
the most disinterested in your very existence
Is when I so very badly
need you the most.
Hold me.
If I have anything you want, then just hold me
....& save me from myself.