grame
“Because there is desire within me, everything glimmers.”
Dear Simone,
My life has taken on a very different pattern. There are some items we must lose before we leave behind. In the weeks I skipped writing to you, I developed distinct habits I used to avoid our discourse. Mornings, I walk to the beach with my coffee in the small tumbler from Clara. I wear the old jeans of Melissas with the ragged pockets and the cable knit sweater I promised I would toss in Barcelona. I spent nine days sick with a fever wearing that heavy sweater and a pair of linen shorts I wrung out with the scent of my illenss and tossed to the rubbish bin. I could not bring myself to throw away the sweater.
Those final days in Brazil were humid, and my legs were split at the seams with bug bites. I woke several times with wet hands from scratching absentmindedly in my sleep. What am I searching for, something to taste beyond the visible borders of my being? I do not know where I belong and my nails bite into my skin to search for something to hold onto. I know there is nothing I can clasp that will give me the solace I crave. Yet I keep digging.
The man with the triangles painted on his palms appeared several more times. He has dark hands, and the shapes glow gold in the dark and sparkle in the sunlight. It is usually dark when he approaches me. I am usually cold and do not recognize myself against the contours of the dreamscape. He is always dressed the same. A long blue tunic, black pants, bare feet, and a scarf the color of sand. He holds his hands up in front of his face so I do not know the color of his eyes. He has no teeth so when he speaks, he hisses with a tongue that flaps consistently.
The New Moon in Capricorn is this week with the Winter Solstice. The tide is very low and I crept along the narrow tunnels in the cliffs along the beach where the ocean usually fills the grottoes. Inside the channels, I felt the ribbed edges of the stone and knobby crustaceans clinging to the caves. I kept my eyes to the shoreline and watched the waves roll back and back and back.
The sea reaches out to the sky and where the elements meet, it is a blur of white. I am the water; running, rolling, rapid, languid, leaping, mysterious, turbulent, uninhibited. He is the air; bright, breezy, unattached, flirty, flighty, expressive, whimsical, nourishing, expressive intellectual. How is it that two dissimilar things can meet so perfectly in unison?
I worry over the mounting differences between us, and the view of the sea and the sky releases me of this strain.
Unison is possible where the edges soften. The water doesn't mutate, nor does the water change itself to be accepted by another form. The sky reflects the water and the water absorbs the sunrise and sunset. I watch as the colors change from pink to lavender to the bright blue that reminds me of home. Who I am at the core.
When I turn back to the cavern to continue my walk, I see the shapes in thick black ink on the bumpy walls. Six triangles are painted on the dark, rough stone below the water line so only I can see from where I stand below sea level.
Photo source.
