i am home.
i sit in the chair in front of the fire
having read to him from a book of collected short stories by Thomas Mann
(a tale called "The Will To Happiness" which features a character clinging onto life until he gets all he's ever desired, and dying just then... as i have noticed so very often... with Tapestry... with countless others... in the tales i have heard recounted from the men of other generations that i have visited... as i am visiting one now.. fearing the same, i change my desires... and feel ill-at-ease here...)
it all feels familiar
frighteningly familiar, instead of comforting
the view from the deck was stunning today
the patina of greens of the valley and hills
the colours of the sky at sunrise and sunset...
i did not sleep well last night
and woke up with a sore throat
similar to the last time i returned here seeking comfort and home
--- no rest and illness taking up residence in me...
i pity myself
and know not else what to do.
i am trying to breathe through it;
give it time.
how many have said to me in recent times
"let yourself be loved"
and how often had i said it to myself before now?
i know , i know...
there is a softness at my centre i fear
i don't trust others to be gentle and not hurt me
yet in my recent rushing
i have been so harsh with myself...
i am amazed i am not totally wounded.
my wounds have been made quite fresh, though...
i am hoping this time in this house will give me the peace to listen to them
to lick them clean
and let them heal as they need to
not obscure them and abstract them into crystalis
which makes pretty lights
but is hardly useful for coming into the integrity i desire.
you know, i could talk on and on about this for hours
but tonight i am keeping it short
because i now have months and months to talk about it
and wish to do so with the thoroughness it deserves
much love to you all
i look forward to getting to know you
now that i am home.