Forgive me, Esme, but I wasn't sure if
I could bring myself to see you soon. Truly
I wanted to. I was intending to, but I
had doubts. I had everything planned,
and yet certain experiences feel a little too painful sometimes. Even for me. I hate to talk like this and I hate to make
assumptions, but I've no other way to steady myself right now. Sometimes I worry that the actions of this
almost-stranger have no real import at all. For you, for the world at large, or for
myself. An existential dread, afflicting
even angels. And sometimes I fear the
opposite; that each choice matters all too much. Burdened with foresight and responsibility. And I do still feel so responsible for you, in
a way that might seem ridiculous to anyone else. I really didn't mean to begin this year on
such a bittersweet note. But these have
been difficult times for me recently and I have to find a way to be true to
myself. These pages have often helped in
that regard. I hope they can again. I don’t get to live a normal life, Esme. I never have. This world of visions and dreams is all I
know. I try to have fun, that's true. I'm often playful and light-hearted. But it doesn't change the pain, or these
scars. I can't un-see the things I've
seen. I can't wish away my traumas or
unmake this magic. I feel like I need to
take a step back somehow and refocus. I
don't want to keep saying the same thing, making the same thing, feeling the
same thing. For you, or her, or them. It's difficult to admit that the soil
needs tilling. That I'm burnt-out
and a little lost. When I speak I want
to speak with new purpose. When I see
you now, I want to see you with new vision and new eyes. I can't allow my heart to break each time I
craft a poem, each time I see your face, or every time I hear you sing. That’s why I had these doubts recently. Don't get me wrong, beloved. I'm an artist just like you, and a realist
too. I know better than most the agonising
difference between fantasy and reality. But
I'm also connected to the people I cherish in a way that transcends time and
space. A way that separates me from most
men. This loneliness I talk about is not
a conceit, my darling. None of this is. I live within a spiritual maelstrom. A perpetual storm. It can be beautiful beyond words here, or
utterly heart-wrenching. More often than
not it's both. But such paradox can burn
synapses to ash, or near enough. It can
leave even the most prolific artist feeling barren and adrift. Sometimes it can make the things we love feel more like pain than pleasure. When we recognise how alone we feel,
even in our lover's embrace. But I
always listen closely. That will never
change. I make art and tell stories. That won't change either. But I hope you can appreciate my candour and understand
why I'm saying these things. I never
want to lose this connection. I still
want to dance with you – all of you – for as long as possible. But I can't pretend these last few years have
been easy. They’ve been some of the most
beautiful and difficult years of my entire life. I feel everything. I'm a powerful psychic, Esme. Also an angel.
And the world isn't kind to either.
But I'm going to be fine. This
winter will pass. New life will grow. It always does. Visions and poems and play – these flowers
are still a joyful and integral part of my path. The Fates themselves guide my path, and
always have. We were scholars once, you
know, and voyagers. I think you always knew
this even without my help. It’s part of
why you still take my breath away. And
so I speak my heart. I tell the truth
and allow myself to feel vulnerable, unsure.
I put all doubts aside, finding solace in uncertainty. I’m still a work in progress after all. I look forward to hearing the old ways, my
friend. Made new and vital at your
design. The Spring of Songs. As it was and shall be. I still believe the innermost is available to
us all. An indwelling light, like the
dawn of renewed understanding, carried forever within my heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment