Palinoia

A rumination with Love.

 

 

You asked what you saw in my eyes were tears. You wanted to know when we met for the first time. I close my eyes, breathe, and surrender to my “Mon” for an answer.

 

Would you slide your arm through mine like crochet and make an interlocking loop with affection? Lean on my shoulder to relax while we stroll through the snow-white meadow. The never-ending field is a computing screen interrupted with black marks; we call it language. Here we would find more empty spaces, as if silence and unspoken emotions convey more than we can construct by drawing, using alphabets and words! Our walk would be aimless in this landscape; nothing may seem adequate except for our breathing and heartbeat. But we could feel the intimacy! With our eyes closed, I hope you, too, sense it!

 

Perhaps my diction about these strange feelings is “Kipuka,” – an island within a sea of lava streams covered with soil and plants. This would have been a sterile backdrop without the sudden pause of the fiery march of lava, but now the Kipuka is blessed from the second thought of those flaming waves. My psyche burned from searing lava-like grief of many regrets about you, about Love, and created a series of fissures in “Mon Amar.” I anchored in waiting, yes, in waiting and making “Kipuka” for my limping, spiritless heart – a confused attempt, you could say. 

 

I dismissed every possible quest I could have stirred to ease my cranium full of maudlin assumptions about our relationship. I could have met and examined the path toward you but without any angst. Instead, I bartered for an act of patience, waiting for my fantasy about you – my “Love” to show up automatically in a tangible format at my front door. It could not have. I failed even to start, set, and be at peace with my search for you, for the certitude – no love can sustain existence without nourishment from the truth and the resolute efforts to seek it! I did not want to learn how to recognize and pay homage when they – the good fortune, you, the Love would show up to answer my quest. I lazed for a miracle.

 

Only yesterday. It was last year. Now I am looking at four seasons long sun, winds, and change of colors. Sailing through the waves of time, noticing a clear view of the harbor where my vessel had been, and keeping it moving in a straight line is an unparalleled skill. However, I am bewildered that we sail through life looking at the bygone periods. As if what seemed genuine once should now be so as well. I may now articulate what that aporia in “seeking or searching” means, but uncertain if it matters anymore, even when we start anew! Time changes what once was, what furrow we draw for the future. We both have changed, haven’t we?

 

Today I have grown older, and my memories are misty from last year and years ago. My mind is blanketed with strewn, superimposed sentimental feelings of events and the expanse of time from my younger years. In memories, I built a collection of silhouettes of stories that might be true, but without a plight – I cannot gather souvenirs to validate and soothe my doubts about where I had been. Everything has slipped into disarray in my corner of the world! Because I did not want my illusions destroyed. Living imprisonment with the delusion felt intimate that served me better than a useless fact: that the season wrapped around the space I held, or the moment now, must dissolve. The longing for your company is inexhaustible – I used to live there once, in your presence.

 

The brave among us looks for and make peace with the truth before it is too late. Without a guileless acceptance of this insight, Love is only a phantasm! This wisdom is tucked in the brain’s creases and has not yet sipped into my heart. It may! One possibility, but best of hope to start this special day of the new year, along with the longing!