Here's how this works:
1. ANSWER THESE 3 QUESTIONS as honestly as you can.
2. MESSAGE ME with your answers and I will tell you what they mean.
What is your favorite color to look at?
Give 3 words that describe what that color means to you.
What is your favorite body of water?
Give 3 words that describe that body of water to you.
Think of sleep.
Give 3 words that describe sleep to you.
If I could devour the world with my eyes,
Know that I would leave nothing for you.
I was driving home and quickly adjusted the car's wheels to miss what I took to be a black snake. I backed up and got out of the car to see why he was remaining in the road, worried that he might be severely injured. He was none too pleased at my presence and made himself as large as he could, mouth wide and fangs exposed.
I didn't mind antagonizing him a bit since he was trying to make his way to the side, allowing me the time to examine him. I found the injury about an inch and a half from the base of his tail. It appeared to be a small puncture wound, but there was some tissue protruding from the wound and of course I cannot know what kind of trauma was internal.
I tried to encourage him to the side with a stick. I felt if only he could get to the grass, he'd be more comfortable and have a better chance. Unfortunately, there was a small amount of gravel and pine straw to forge through before grass. I noticed that he was having trouble closing his jaws, causing him to scoop up debris.
He flailed about...possibly even from the pain of that wound scraping across gravel. Then he stopped moving. I think he lost consciousness for a moment and when he began moving again, it was with far less energy. I broke the flimsy bits off the stick and lifted him gently. He let me. I placed him beneath a bush, shaded and grassy, watched a moment, then got back in the car and drove home, wondering if he had a chance.
I went by the next day. It looks as if he coiled in a bit before he died. I wonder what caused his injury. I wonder if the encounter holds any meaning for me. If I were an ancient, I would be searching for omens and auspices. I find myself inexplicably comforted by the thought that a wounded snake died in the cool of a shady bush.
Show's Over. Move On. Nothing To See Here.
There are verses whether said or sung that are so beautiful, so individually pertinent, so right, that even as you wish to drown in the perfection of the experience while your heart soars, there comes too, a stabbing into the ribcage that is so deep that it does not seem possible to survive such beautiful, personal pain.
I have often spoken of Caravaggio's exalted use of light, even in the painting of a humble fold of cloth. It is a mastery akin to being lifted outside of myself in prayer, one that steals my breath and weaves itself through the forgotten and neglected places deep inside, a prayer that gravely aches with a benediction promising to restore.
How much more then does your form, your voice, assault and caress the bruised and fractured pieces of myself, hastily gauzed and taped for the pace of days that will march without you if you fall by the way. I never intended to limp this far, so you lifted me without burden, as I am, and carry me still. The warmth of your arms cradle me even as I cannot bear it any longer. I recognize the moment my heart succumbs, my will surrenders, and I submit to your healing, killing embrace.
My excellent friend, how I adore you and the hand that crafted you so unusually. I love that you know your limitations and can speak of the cloudy lens through which you see the world that both frightens and delights you. I thank you for the gratitude that wells unexpectedly from you at the simplest kindnesses, those that are nearly nothing to me.
You see me as a blessing and miss entirely how beautiful you are in your overly large body that houses a gentle heart that few take the time to notice. The furrows in your brow speak of the hours in isolation, alone with worries that have pinned you to the edge of a dark, deep fall. My head says my heart should break, but it sings instead because someone as complex and profound as you walks the same earth as me.
Thank you, my friend, for reaching. Thank you for feelings that are never lukewarm. I am awed by your bravery. You are wonderfully and fearfully made...though the world tells you that your thought processes are flawed and your mind has broken places, I tell you that I would rather spend eternity talking to you than a moment with someone whose soul is not poetry. I mourn that you ache. I wish I could remove the source of that ache, but I would not because you would cease to be you. Ache then, and I will ache, too.
How many times do I have to try to tell you
That I'm sorry for the things I've done
But when I start to try to tell you
That's when you have to tell me
Hey... this kind of trouble's only just begun
I tell myself too many times
Why don't you ever learn to keep your big mouth shut
That's why it hurts so bad to hear the words
That keep on falling from your mouth
Falling from your mouth
Falling from your mouth
I may be mad
I may be blind
I may be viciously unkind
But I can still read what you're thinking
And I've heard it said too many times
That you'd be better off
Why can't you see this boat is sinking
(this boat is sinking this boat is sinking)
Let's go down to the water's edge
And we can cast away those doubts
Some things are better left unsaid
But they still turn me inside out
Turning inside out turning inside out
This is the book I never read
These are the words I never said
This is the path I'll never tread
These are the dreams I'll dream instead
This is the joy that's seldom spread
These are the tears...
The tears we shed
This is the fear
This is the dread
These are the contents of my head
And these are the years that we have spent
And this is what they represent
And this is how I feel
Do you know how I feel ?
'cause i don't think you know how I feel
I don't think you know what I feel
I don't think you know what I feel
You don't know what I feel
(not sure of the author...A. Lennox sings it on my album)
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