I feel more. And where, exactly, my emphasis lies I decipher is changeable. Just like the day. Just like my breath. Or like Hamlet. And it seems (at least, that's what I often tell myself) like near-death and like coming back to life. Every second an infinite and thrilling partaking of something. And the moment is shattered by a question: "Of what?" All of this: this life, this consciousness, this breath, this body, this mind, all of it--the cellular-level "IT"--all of it tied to something bigger than me.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Today I spoke. And I didn't think about it then too much. Now, however, I feel pleased I moved them so. I was told by one that I spoke "from the heart;" and, another, a tall, intense man named Joe said "Thank you; I understood." He held my hand, and for a bit longer than I expected. I let go first.
Monday, January 17, 2011
I feel! And it's like near-death, like I'm holding on to my last breath. Time feels sharp. Every second, like a frozen moment. That cold burning. And my thoughts go back to him. Again, him! He whom I'm afraid to ask "Can we really be doing this?" He yields to me and murmurs a tender affirmative in my ear, and I melt.