Friday, May 29, 2020

Not the Familiar Error

Well, I am not a broken heart, not a canoe. Am not a lake or a bell or a communion wafer.

A shadow is not an insult to the sun.

Come, my hand is open, let us walk a little and find a quiet garden away from the world.

White stones on the trail before us - thank you Jesus! Have I told you the story of the quartz rock in the pasture where as a child I went to sit, in sunlight and rain, at dawn and dusk?

Desire is the sadness in us. Desire is the error that we do not mean to make but make and are confused how to fix.

I remember driving through parts of Vermont, ruined by wanting everything I saw, and so seeing nothing save my own wretchedness staring back at me the only way it knew.

When I dream of you, it is not you I dream of, and this is how I know that wanting you is not the familiar error, but a different one, and maybe not one.

So I want you to suck me, on your knees, so what? So I haven't thrown away a rosary or a crucifix since I was five years old and I want you to suck me, on your knees, so what? So I want you to suck me so that after I will fall to my knees to be with you and we will fall to the floor in each other's arms and forget sex, forget marriage, forget bodies, forget God.

So what. Who cares.

In late winter I visit the dead dog's grave. In late Spring I climb the other dead dog's monument, which is God's inverted knee named Ascutney, at the top of which I touch the sky, then touch my fingers to my lips to heal them.

So I appear and my appearance briefly obscures the Light of Love, the Heart of Peace. But not you.

Never you.

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