I am finding it difficult right now to put everything that I am going through into words. I find that only songs can express what is inside my soul, so many little tunes that are floating in and out of my mind, weaving through it, like the fine hairs of wool twisting into a long cord of notes. Knitting a scarf of song that wraps around cozy and warm and flows out behind me like a long train. I close my eyes and the fabrics in my cluttered collection form themselves into little animal visions. My hand finds a pen and it winds itself across my page thick and thin the black lines and white spaces like sitting in meditation the white the space between my thoughts, my thoughts scattered around the blank page in long flowing patterns that have no meaning and then form themselves into tiny pictures that pop out and then are gone again.
Tempered Steel. He says it and it forms a small cocoon around my body. You have become a damn fine knife he says. I am a good knife forged in a very hot fire. We joke about zombies being “life impaired”, but my mind is wrapping around that idea, tempered steel, I am unwrapping the words like a hard candy, popping it in my mouth savoring them tasting them. I tell my friend who is still in the forge, that this is what will come of it for her, you will be tempered steel, a good knife. Being able to counsel her is like polish on my knife. I think I might be getting it. Which zen master was it that found enlightenment in the smell of an incense stick? This candy is wholesome tasting in my mouth. It isn’t enlightenment, but it becomes a lit incense stick.
I have this recurring dream that I am walking through the woods and I come to a stream I realize I have been here before but it is also my first time in the way of dreams. I dive in knowing the current is strong, I come to a long tunnel under the water I take a deep breath and I am scared that I won’t make it through to the other side before I run out of air but then I wake up and I never see if I make it. Tonight I want to dream that I have come out the other side, and I want to stand up and throw the water off my hair in sparkling droplets in the golden sunshine.
You ask me what would give my life meaning, where might I find the right companion, and I have no answers for you. I know that I am searching for that laughing place, the briar patch. I know it involves being outside, that perhaps there is music involved and art. I know it involves intellectual conversations with people that read. I know that my companion will be willing to put aside the wasted time in his life to be with me, that I will turn and he will be there, that he will seek me out and I will willingly travel to be in his arms. That I will have faith that he cares for me I won’t have to ask. He must be strong and tender and a man, he would do anything not to let me down, and will find my quirkiness to be quaint and lovely. I know whom I am and know I will be a good woman for him. I ask the universe to send it my way and when it doesn’t come I cry. I know that sometimes the universe’s answer is no. That is what makes me cry the hardest. What have I done wrong? I come up with nothing. I love my people freely and willingly, I am a good person, I am strong and funny and pretty.
I have to dive in, I know the tunnel is there and the current will carry me through. I can almost feel the sunlight on my sparkling face. I am a damn good knife.