My grandmother was named Rose, she lived in the wild and tamed three sons.
“There was something about him that she wanted to learn, grow into, and hide in, where she could turn away from being an adult. There was some little waltz in the way he spoke to her and the way he thought.”
The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje.
I promised to tell you how one falls in love.
The wild poem is a substitute
For the women one loves
Or ought to love,
One wild rhapsody
A fake for another
“I believe this. When we meet those we fall in love with, there is an aspect of our spirit that is historian, a bit of a pedant who reminisces or remembers a meeting when the other has passed by innocently… but all parts of the body must be ready for the other, all atoms must jump in one direction for desire to occur.”
― Michael Ondaatje, Author of The English Patient
Stretching out of the silence, through the torpor, the ache, the awe… beginning to move toward the lyrical mind. There has been a enormous gulf that is impossible to fill, there is only one way to explore it… and that is by being present, so once again, here I am.