Articulacy of fingers the language of the deaf and dumb, signing of the body. Body longing. Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like braille. I like to keep my body rolled up away from prying eyes. Never unfold too much, tell the whole story. I fear meeting someone with reading hands, in case they translate me into their own book.
In silence and in darkness we loved each other and as I traced his bones with my palm I wondered what time would do to skin that was so new to me. Could I ever feel less for this body? Why does ardour pass? Time that withers you will wither me. Will we fall like ripe fruit and roll down the grass together? Dear friend, let me lie beside you watching the clouds until the earth covers us and we are gone.
‘Written on the Body’ Jeanette Winterson – page 89-90
The world is so empty if one thinks only of mountains, rivers and cities; but to know someone here and there who thinks and feels with us, and though distant, is close to us in spirit — this makes the earth for us an inhabited garden.
I want to plunge into your strength, be wrapped in your protection and tenderness. Let me rest my head against your chest that I might feel the cadence of your heart. Oh, how that sound soothes my restless spirit. I rage against the chaos and mundane. I know that peace is within me not without but please just for now, just for this moment wrap me up in your strength that I might draw from it and stand firmer for another day meandering; breathing love into embers and teasing a smile from my disheartened soul. I found a treasure my love, but it has slipped from grasp and sight. I will find it again and polish the tarnish, return it to gleam like the stars that fell from my eyes, but for now, just for this precious moment please wrap yourself around me, a borrowed garment providing protection, so I no longer feel lost, that my heart may fortify again and find the will to bloom.
Fear not separation; do not allow the ‘sense’ of loneliness to terrify your soul. Know that darkness and light are never truly separate rather they circle one another, the darkest point of night is at the point right before dawn, the brightest light of the day is as the sun departs to make way for night. This is the time that the soul rejoices. You can never be alone if you are within yourself. When you can open your endlessly growing heart to love you will become a beacon calling your anam cara to you. Duality becomes singularity.
May you never be isolated; but may you always be in the gentle nest of belonging with your anam cara.
“I will bring you happy flowers from the mountain, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses, I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.” Pablo Neruda
Rich in dreams I wander between worlds. I am your morning, you my evening. I am your tomorrow, you my yesterday. A gentleness descends upon my shoulders, unbidden sadness awakes within my heart. Opposing seasons between the hemispheres and I long for the company of one I have never met. To sit and talk, sharing a bottle of wine as sun sets rather than it setting in your world yesterday as it rises in mine today.