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| 'Another Time' by Trish |
I dream, and in my dream, I talk to my lady.
I want to protect her, I say, 'heed my words,
if you should fall, you are bound to hurt yourself.
Then I say, Why must you climb so high?'
She seems unable to hear me, or wont.
So I raise my voice, say, 'if you must go so far, and away, from me,
then, at least let me help you, prepare yourself for the fall'.
Still she does not hear me, or wont, or is it, she can't?
Now I try to use her words, the way she used to explain to me,
her thoughts and feelings. I say, 'If what I fear should come about,
then catch the stars as you fall lady. Fill your soft palms with them,
catch star dust in you hair, smooth it over your satin silk eyelids, and so bring to light, even more, the luminous glow, of your deep emerald green eyes.
There is silence. For a long time, just silence. It surrounds me,
pulls me down in a current of such force, it threatens to take my very life.
As often happens, I no longer know if I am asleep or awake, I struggle to get my bearings.
My lady becomes a glitter of sequins stitched to a night sky.
My ears ring with a sharp, shrill sound, the shrillness turns to
the sweet song of a bird, it soothes my ravaged hearing, calms my jaded nerves.
Then, all is changed, shaken and shattered, by the low pitched, cynical laugh of the clown who waits in the wings.
It appears he waits to comment on me, or is it to perform me? When I examine him closely,
I see how ugly he is, and even as he roars his raucous laughter, tears roll down his rough rouged cheeks,
drip onto the white ruffle around his neck, spread out over his heaving chest,
until his clown vest, seems plastered to his torso. Just over his heart, the dampness turns to a patch of darkest red, and it looks as if he has been wounded, and that his heart begins to bleed.
There is perfumed warmth nearby, the scent holds the delicateness of rose petals,
and I know, she is near.
She has returned to me, perhaps only in my dream, but it is something, and it must be enough.
See how she glows and radiates the space around her? Much as I want to be close to my lady, I hesitate, for I have learned that, within the golden glow, sometimes, lies a strange, searing heat, and so I wait.
Once, I held her body. All night she lay in my arms, cold and lifeless one minute,
then, trembling and burning a feverish state the next, muttering and moaning words that made no sense to my ears. All day she slept and I kept guard over her
with my love. As I waited and watched her still sleeping face, her eyes opened wide, and stared long, into mine, then she started, and drew back, as if I was a monster, a thing of revulsion. She rose quickly, and without a word, left me.
Back she went, into her world of clouds, of drifts and currents, for she seemed not to be of my world, but of one, only she could enter.
When she left, my loneliness, was unbearable. Against my own reason, I roamed the streets in search of her. Of course I did not find her, nor did I ever see her again. But I lie. She came once more.Why she came that last night was a mystery to me, but then, every thing she did was a mystery. Like a gypsy she came, no shoes, dressed in nothing but a jeweled shawl, that draped and wrapped itself tightly round her frail body, it gleamed like a sky of stars. Her delicate shoulders seemed bowed, as if, from the weight of her starlit shawl.
I had prayed for her to return, that she may fill the vast darkness that surrounded me,
with her moonlight rays. And so she did. Drifted, as was her want, across my empty room, in her starlit mantel, and gently pressed her finger tips to the scar on my cheek, as she always did. This night, she and I sailed, in a jeweled boat on a moonlit sea. We gently rocked to the lapping sound of the waves, I fell deep into the depths of the perfumed cloud world, of drifts and currents, she had always entered into alone. Only this night, she took me with her.
I don't know how long it was before we returned to the shore, or when it was I realized, by the coldness that engulfed me, that I was once more alone.
Perhaps you loose patience with me, suspect I am raving, demand my story make sense? Make sense in your way. But this is my way. It's how I know what is mine and what is not. How I know what is beautiful to me, even if it is not so for you. I have invited you into my world, asked you to witness how it was for me to attempt to enter the world of another. A world so utterly different from my own. And, what I hoped to share, is but a glimpse of the confusion and also clarity, I found there. And although to live without her energy, leaves me the poorer. I am no longer that pauper, she first found, when she touched as lightly upon my life, as her finger tips touched the scar on my cheek.
As I no longer have need to go anywhere, and therefor have time aplenty, and if, it is convenient to you, and there is the inclination, then let us continue, to weave a little of these things together. Let me share with you more of what turned from torment, into, a magical energy, I believe you'll find it well worth the effort. But let me warn you, you must fight to be aware, and awake, for it is a strange, unforgettable experience, and one can very easily loose their way. This way, of confusion, clarity, beauty, pain and fear and finally blessed peace, is not meant for those who are faint of heart.
Tushie (1992)
