Pinnochio had a cricket dandy.
Oh, I would find that most handy,
Rather than the gravelly and sandy
Voice in my ear that prefers to bandy
Words about, distracting me like candy
When I need counsel, not some randy
Perspective that burns like brandy
And numbs me to the old modus operandi.
I am a self-confessed word fetishist. I am, quite simply, in love with the sound of language and the components that make up its rhythm and life-blood. Sometimes a single word will tumble about in my empty skull for very real reasons, yelling, "Think on me. Know me. Contemplate me." Hard for me to ignore a pushy word.
The word of today is, "abide." It fills me with biblical references and the sounds and smells of the Catholic church I loved so much as a young girl. It means so much more than "live here." It feels to me like a word infused with magic. The reference that accompanies it is, "Abide in me." It is spoken by God in John 15:4 "Abide in me and I in you." Interestingly enough, in many translations now, "Remain in me" has been substituted. A paler concept, in my opinion.
It is an old word from an older day when temporal concerns were not about the disgust of traffic delays and the extra 30 seconds it takes the fast food worker to remember your sauce packet. It is woven with the sense of permanence. It is not a fema residence...it is not even the duration of a current marriage.
It is, "I am ever with you."
To abide in someone is a notion that captivates my imagination and beckons to me. I see the face and form of the one in whom I desire to abide. I close my eyes and whisper a message that ties itself to the tail of a frolicking wind..."Abide in me and I in you."
"Trying to clear my head." Yep, that's what I said. What a cliche' and what a lie. But to whom did I lie?
August has been an abysmal month for me creatively. After the end of a long relationship, the craisin in my chest has begun to make odd fluttering motions I vaguely remember from the faraway and long ago.
An amazing friend told me that it's ok to feel, but followed up with, "give yourself time." She opened the door to scary freedom and then stuffed me right back into my comfort zone. Where heart is concerned, I reign in the Kingdom Of Slow Down and Think It Through. Passionless peasants pay me homage to never increase our borders.
We do not march
We do not war
We fly no flag
We do not soar.
How will I make it through the dreams? The more I stir the oatmeal of my heart's breakfast, the lumpier it becomes until the palate of my unconscious mind rails against the slop I serve and cayennes the corners of my sleep with all the things I do not admit that I most fear.
Clearing my head. And when it is clear once again, what a gain for me. Clear head! Clear head!
I'm a fool. Life is in the cloudy thoughts that wander to the one you see in your dreams. Passion is in the struggle of succumbing to what makes no sense. But I wrap my arms about my knees and think. I think and think myself away from who I want to be and dive back into the pocket of my comfortable jeans.
“I could be bound in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space - were it not that I have bad dreams.”
- Hamlet Act II Sc ii
Why is your face more dear
To me than all others?
You share the standard issue
Of all the right features
With multitudes of humans
Alive and dead.
There are no extreme variations
In the construct of your features
That could explain my affection,
My need to look at you,
My need to believe
You are real.
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