My therapist has been saying some things about willingness. In my context, it’s the willingness to go on, to get out of bed in the morning and to live. In another context, I was thinking about what is really happening in relationships, why with some people and at some times it feels easy to forgive, easy to let go of small things, easy to accept that we’re loved, and with other people or the same people at other times it is so impossibly difficult. And why in those difficult times no amount of talking, no amount of “good communication skills” seems to help. All the conversations go around and around and nothing is resolved. In the worst case, the communication skills are deployed to belittle the other. We articulately criticize each others’ technique, and say “no wonder this isn’t working, you haven’t used the 3-step process (or whatever) even once this week”. Continue reading “Willingness”
Not a thought
in my head,
not a synapse,
is devoted to anything but
breathing, and you.
My heartbeat, and
the worlds behind your gaze.
In the stillness of discovery,
on the edge of silence,
a sound like thought condensing in a crystal:
Your speech, a minimalist’s delight.
The lilt, the cadence, water-syllables laughing downstream over rocks.
I’m sitting alone on the headland at the point. Just over there is the cliff I could use if I wanted to jump. Not tonight. Probably not ever. My lover says that would be a good place to jump. I think one day she will. If not here then somewhere else. I wonder if I’ll know. That will be the fulfilment and completion of my failure, absolute confirmation of the futility of every thing I do and think and feel. And as such, I suppose it doesn’t matter if I know or not.
Continue reading “To my therapist”
I am building a path.
It leads back to you.
I’m making it from weeks, and days,
and hours, and even minutes,
sometimes – not too often minutes,
I’m glad to say.
I stick the weeks and days together
with promises, and hope, and words.
I water the path with love.
Of course, watering never made
a path grow faster.
But it gives me something to do
with my love.
And the path does grow:
every day, by a day,
every hour, by an hour,
it brings me closer to where you are.
And where you are is where we are,
and there I’ll have something better to do
with my love
than watering these days and weeks and hours.
Two weeks since I held you in my arms
and I miss you,
like a raw wound on my heart I miss you.
I have your voice, thank God,
and I can look into your eyes.
But no matter how I reach out
I can’t feel your fingers laced through mine,
your fingers twined through my hair.