falling
secrets. our secrets. desires, none. all.
goethe was there, rilke missed it. it is just a place: rocks and water
i was talking about you, you were the one with whom i was talking.
we do fall in love with our own delusions.
in hallucinations, we see perfection in insanity we disconnect and call it reality
that you are an angel is not known. that you are named after one is very well known. that angels are nothing but a figure of speech is perhaps not everybody's understanding of the concept.
just on saturday when walking with one of my cousins from the cemetery into town after a family funeral, i was approached by a man whose face seemed familiar. i could not place where i had seen his face before. our dialogue was a play in misunderstandings. the man approaches me and tells me that he heard that i was the daughter of so and so. i, never being too serious, much less at a funeral of a very old and very dear family member, and certainly being in an environment where i have lost touch with the culture and somewhat irritated that i was being addressed without a proper introduction, then just responded in kind that i had heard the same thing, but that i certainly could never be sure. the identity of one's father is somehow always a matter of faith, or else it needs hard-core scientific proof. the man addressing me was rather confused at this point, and i really was not fully engaged in the conversation. eventually i realized that the man did not share my sense of humour and tried to clarify the situation. my impression is that he remained unconvinced. whatever the interaction was it reminded me how language and humour are so very culture-context dependent. after this little dialogue and once the man was at some distance, i asked my cousin who he was. then it made sense, then the whole conversation made sense. the higher world of ignorant intrigue and the wonderful way that misunderstandings propagate in a small community became very apparent to me.
contention and misunderstandings are easy. each one of us creates his own reality populated with his/her own truths. perhaps it is the many hours of silence that we have spent together, or it is because you have dared to caress my ego and the certainty of what is a non-personal interaction that makes me think of you whenever i find myself unsure. i chose you as a teacher, you do not force your teachings on me. i have chosen you as a muse, you do not force inspiration on me. if you were an illusion or a delusion, you would be the most empowering of all illusions and an absolute truth.