May 4, 2010

Tis a battle for bread, for love and for breath. Tis a race for life to the jaws of death

Before you were young, you were probably something very old. There was the time when you did not exist, and then there you were. It wasn't so much a choice as it was the alignment of everyone else before you, who took to the tides, letting them pull and push you into being. The first breath you took was never to be returned. As well as every one thereafter.

It's a bit of an unfair shake, that you'll never know the oldest thing about yourself. Nature doesn't keep keen to nostalgia, I suppose. If you can remember the first thing you thought, well there is a good chance you are not completely alright, in the sense that science will allow.

Sometimes when it's so quiet, the air takes on a denser form and wraps around you with the intention, it seems, to envelop you completely back into the invisible pulse. And for a moment your eyes feel it and your ears see it and your skin knows it. Your love fears it and your fear loves it. I think this is what people are talking about when they talk about meditation, maybe. I never could quite get there.

I tried to see it with my heart and hear it in your silence and feel it in your distance. I only felt myself getting older and further alone, collecting water in the ears. Whatever it was, you carried it around you like an echo, unseen. The closer you came to me it pushed into me, and I shrank back into the invisible space that you are never aware is inside of you until you are there, like a wrong turn that brought you back home. I said nothing to you and slept through all the stories you might have told me. I hollowed out a space between my spine and my ribcage for you, but you said you had a hard time falling asleep there.
Me too, I said.  

I thought that if I knew how to find that first thought I would know how to feel about you. That too is kind of like meditation. And I haven't made it there yet either.

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