Hiraeth

Many things I have been called (not that I care). People will say, after all. <SHRUG> Let them say. I know me and take great comfort in my own loving presence. But there is something a little odd. It's a certain longing or yearning, not for a person or a situation to make my life "right". No. I've been looking at this, querying that inner voice which, in the case of this feeling, is a sort of distant howling. I turn inward and survey, looking for its cause. This is what I see and hear and feel.

There's a vast expanse of landscape about me and it's night. A low, broken cloud base, with bright full moonlight peaking through, lights the water upon which I look down. The light catches, spangling the waves and casting the rolling hills in soft silver that bounces off the water and then back down off the clouds. The flickering orange glow of fires dot the hills. I hear distant weeping, all around, and I reckon the fires are pyres. There's a hollow ache and, as I come back to here and now, a deep longing for a place I have, in this life, never been.

That's part of it -- the first layer -- and it's a "memory" of sorts, but not from this life. It represents, in my psyche "unfinished business": something "unforgiven" against which some part of my passion yet rails, "No. I defy it." And yet the sense of loss is shattering and it leads me deeper, to another level of longing where that pain is healed and another longing has its roots.

I see a world, like a blue jewel in the barren cauldren of cosmos. The water dazzles my sensorium -- every shade of blue and green and freckled with white-rimmed jade islands. They're festooned with color: purple Tibuchina and lavender jacaranda and the crimson tops of Delonix Trees, otherwise known as "Flame of the Forest". Seething clouds of jeweled birds vault into blue abyss of the sky as I descend and find him there, waiting and smiling, his toes buried in the warm sand and the sunlight glinting and catching in his eyes, scintillating like topaz. And I know as he looks at me, for certain, we cannot lose what we love because it's always here, in this world -- the real world. And then I waken and wonder why I left there to come here.

Surely, I did not leave him to come here and remind this sad lot of self absorbed souls of what they ought already know?

And yet, I know that is exactly what I did and I am amazed at my stupid love and the arrogance that it takes to make one think they can make any sort a difference to sleeping godlings who are enchanted with their own dreams of horror.

Yes, I am still "alive". More's the pity, really.



Scotland... Aye.

Hi Al. Reassuring, it is, to see you are well. One prays you are also happy. Here's lookin' at you (since you're lookin at me).