I THINK I wrote these 6 years ago:
How did I end up here?
Things were perfect there for a while. Just us, the open road, and the deep blue sky overhead. We had such a clear sense of purpose. I felt like I was going somewhere; my movements had spirit, fire. The way you looked at me, like I was your fearless leader. I think we both knew I wasn't the one to guide, but I wanted to be, very much.
So when you weren't looking, I grabbed the map and struck off on my own. Those shortcuts you took gave me an idea. If I got to where we were going first, I could show you the way with perfect confidence. It would be a gift, like a bouquet of flowers that I had found and picked myself. And I thought I could see it too, just over the horizon: our destination.
But when I got there, it wasn't it. I hadn't found what we had been looking for at all. Somewhere I had taken a wrong turn. Even worse, when I turned around to apologise, you were nowhere to be seen. Frantically, I searched for the map, so I could find you again, but it was gone.
Now, I'm just scared. I've been wandering all over, drifting aimlessly. Floundering in liquid decisions, sinking in changing values, drifting past broken, useless signposts. What if I can't find you again? What if we were wrong, and there is no destination? Nah.
I've realized that I can't do it on my own, that I need help. I just need somewhere to ask for directions. I just need to swallow my pride and ask.
It used to be so easy. How did I end up here?
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Thinking about time
"At the time that I climb the mountain and cross the river I am there as that time. Time is not separate from me and if I am present then so too is time. Time does not wax and wane and so the time of climbing the mountain is the right now of being-time. If time does come and go you are the being of time. This is being-time. The time of climbing the mountains and crossing rivers swallows the time of resting in a vermilion palace. Presencing chews up that time and spits out this time."
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Chatting
We just finished talking on YM an hour ago and this is what I've been reduced to. Writing messages to a blank screen. Did you know that this is only the fourth time we've talked online in the months that we've known each other? Every occasion seems so full of promises that are never fulfilled. As usual, our conversation ended just as it was beginning. Why is it, that whenever the walls between us start to crumble, we are forced apart by some dangerous shut in with too much time on his hands? I love feeling that I may finally catch a true glimpse at your past; just the smallest glimmer of what made you the beautiful person that you are today, but I hate not being able to do so. Let me see over your wall. I promise I'll do everything I can not to hurt you. I just need to know that my hopes are not in vain. Give me even the slightest hint that my feelings are not just the product of wishcraft and I will be content. Hopefully one day I'll come out of our conversations with more answers than questions. Then again, these questions may be the very things which keep me in this painfully glorious state of perpetual anticipation.
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How did I end up here?
Things were perfect there for a while. Just us, the open road, and the deep blue sky overhead. We had such a clear sense of purpose. I felt like I was going somewhere; my movements had spirit, fire. The way you looked at me, like I was your fearless leader. I think we both knew I wasn't the one to guide, but I wanted to be, very much.
So when you weren't looking, I grabbed the map and struck off on my own. Those shortcuts you took gave me an idea. If I got to where we were going first, I could show you the way with perfect confidence. It would be a gift, like a bouquet of flowers that I had found and picked myself. And I thought I could see it too, just over the horizon: our destination.
But when I got there, it wasn't it. I hadn't found what we had been looking for at all. Somewhere I had taken a wrong turn. Even worse, when I turned around to apologise, you were nowhere to be seen. Frantically, I searched for the map, so I could find you again, but it was gone.
Now, I'm just scared. I've been wandering all over, drifting aimlessly. Floundering in liquid decisions, sinking in changing values, drifting past broken, useless signposts. What if I can't find you again? What if we were wrong, and there is no destination? Nah.
I've realized that I can't do it on my own, that I need help. I just need somewhere to ask for directions. I just need to swallow my pride and ask.
It used to be so easy. How did I end up here?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thinking about time
"At the time that I climb the mountain and cross the river I am there as that time. Time is not separate from me and if I am present then so too is time. Time does not wax and wane and so the time of climbing the mountain is the right now of being-time. If time does come and go you are the being of time. This is being-time. The time of climbing the mountains and crossing rivers swallows the time of resting in a vermilion palace. Presencing chews up that time and spits out this time."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chatting
We just finished talking on YM an hour ago and this is what I've been reduced to. Writing messages to a blank screen. Did you know that this is only the fourth time we've talked online in the months that we've known each other? Every occasion seems so full of promises that are never fulfilled. As usual, our conversation ended just as it was beginning. Why is it, that whenever the walls between us start to crumble, we are forced apart by some dangerous shut in with too much time on his hands? I love feeling that I may finally catch a true glimpse at your past; just the smallest glimmer of what made you the beautiful person that you are today, but I hate not being able to do so. Let me see over your wall. I promise I'll do everything I can not to hurt you. I just need to know that my hopes are not in vain. Give me even the slightest hint that my feelings are not just the product of wishcraft and I will be content. Hopefully one day I'll come out of our conversations with more answers than questions. Then again, these questions may be the very things which keep me in this painfully glorious state of perpetual anticipation.
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