i hesitate

sometimes i just can not decide if you are in my life or if you are my life, like i can not decide on the identity of whom i see when i look at you.  when i look at you, is it you or me that i am looking at?

what am i to do when all i am is frightened?

fear. yes, fear. i fear that i am the power house that i see in you, and i fear that i am the molding imperfections that i discover in you. when i find myself in another's embrace and have forgotten your existence, then fear that i may indeed be wanting you the man, and that i can not distinguish between you and him.

i find myself blushing while the memories of yet another fast forward to the present while the wine flows abundantly and dinner is being served in an out of the way northern italian restaurant. my dinner companion listens attentively, i blush, think of him, think of you and look at yet a third and am unable to distinguish. my dinner companion, the man in my life, and i find myself at a loss in the presence of all of you. i just do not know, this is all terribly frightening for a soul misguided by thinking to the conclusion that this body had no right to exist, must less dream, and certainly barred of the prerogative afforded by choice.

the man in my life. the choice, the definite and the universally true man. should i be writing "the men in my life"?

how am i going to let you know that you are all in my life, you are all my life, and that unless i feel and imagine all your presence, i seem to not exist? all. the all. you, all.

when i write all, i mean all. i mean even that one, that affair that had for me no other purpose than taking the whore in me for a spin. i spun the whore, and out came the woman. the woman that came out is a foreigner whom i do not know. she looks like me and like the whore, but i do not know who she is.

when i blushed at the dinner table, it was not the wine, it was the thought of that desire then for poetry and how it was that it became another reality bordering on fiction. all that i wanted then was poetry, in return for the poetry i gave life. in that life that i gave, i found the long lost thread of my own life. it was one evening in a london hotel before yet another training session. i looked in the mirror and i saw somebody whom i did not know. was that the woman that the whore spun into existence?

when the whore bearing affair was over, the other found himself abandoned and ignored in his existence while i rejoiced in the grace of his gift.

was it that the silk worm shed the cocoon, and the moth has not flown away... the silk moth does not fly away, does not eat or drink, it mates, lays a profusion of eggs and dies. and dies, again. it is not what i was looking for.

i hesitate. i want him to ask the questions, i am tired of asking so many questions and not understanding the answers. i want him to know what he wants, and i want you to be sure of that which you want. i want you, i want him, i want all, and i want nothing at all. i hesitate.

i am tired of giving answers to questions i do not have, and using words that i can not grasp. there is only one questions, and that question is: what do i want?

that question is: what do you want?

when i need you

when i need you, i need refuge, i need protection. i am feeling this way now.

i say need, but is it need?

i need you now because dealing with a depression that i could not have anticipated, and that has as its purpose the healing of my thorn spirit, is nothing that i can do alone. it is strange that i feel that it is you whom i need in particular, when at the same time it is not in your arms that i desire to be.

it could be that it is not so strange after all, the greatest gift that we have shared is the knowledge that our relationship is not personal, it is intimate and not personal.

how can it be that while i am feeling this need, i am also frightened to find myself in your arms. how can this be? if it is not personal, then why would it matter?

irreverent and without waiting for the answers, it is in thinking of your words that i find strength. it is in seeing you conquering your weaknesses that i know that i too will conquer mine.

last time you said something that has stuck in my mind, like i had never heard it before, and as though it was  a revelation. it was about reacting and the difference between reacting and being in the presence of a threat. i see you demonstrating this in the film of my memory every day since then. i see it and i can not describe it with words. are the words failing me, or am i failing with the words?

we are conditioned by an arbitrary set of social values that are there to supposedly ensure that our life is good. still, i am not ready to conform, and i suspect that i may never reach that point. surrender i will, but i shall not conform. i shall surrender to my nature and spirit, and i will not conform to that which is not mine.

they have asked me if i am in love with you. i have laughed at the absurdity of the question. i love every stone, every tree, every child, every being. how would i not love you?

to not love you, that would be personal.

i said that i wouldn't, and i did

i said that i wouldn't procrastinate anymore and put off all those tasks that i consider unpleasant for the last possible minute, and i did.

i said that i wouldn't be undisciplined, and i was.

i said that i wouldn't be greedy, and i was.

but did i really say it? did i spell it out? did i articulate it? did i pronounce the words?

was it that i just thought it? was it that i just thought about it?

thoughts, those idle pestering inarticulates of ours!

was it that some vague idea of how it should be dashed across my barely conscientious self?

all those shoulds!

i ask you all, i ask you nothing.

i know nothing.

i never did, or did i?

 

i said that i would, and i did

tunneling and fluage, what do they have to do with each other you asked me. you always ask me so much, so very much. so very precious you are to me.

i told you some months ago, it could have been before i went to your house last time, or was it last summer? what i told you was that i had no clue how i was going to survive the months ahead. i was right, i could not have imagined any of the outcomes of the last few months, like i could not have imagined that all this time you would continue to be inspiration and a source of well-being.

you, who are you? i still want to know.

you know by now that i am not the redhead with whom you flirted one summer. i know that you are not that crusty macho who seems so rough. to me you are the one who took the dirty dishes from my hands and carried them to the kitchen. we seem to not be whom we appear, and yet we are always ourselves. writing to you, my sole reader, is one of the greatest pleasures on this paradise of mine. you listen. i do not know if you understand, and that does not really matter to me.

i need to write, and i need you as my muse.