Once I'd figured out there's nothing better to do than be together,
everything shifted. All the effort went out of it. Since we're already
together,
there's nothing to do
to be together. I marvel and respect how you, so innocent, so sweet,
get that so profoundly, so easily. I give you my presence. That's my
job. Since I'm present, my job's done. Now we celebrate. Look. I'm
here. It doesn't matter if you see me here or not. I'm
here.
Seems like I'm always here.
It's time to make dinner. I prepare a simple yet healthy salad, some
light meat, and an ice cold Pabst Blue Ribbon. I sit in a
comfortable chair eating, watching six deer grazing nearby. They've
looked me over. They've given me the OK to sit here and dine with
them. We're sharing the evening meal together.
I was here last week. I'm here again now.
I like driving. I like the way I'm engaged fully, involved on all
levels: physical, mental, and in terms of
anticipating
where I'm going and in terms of enjoying the journey getting there,
emotional and spiritual. I pull into a gas station, briefly muttering
to myself a useless critique of the unfairness of rising
gasoline prices. Standing quietly, I fill the tank watching the dials
tell me I'm getting less for more.
I'm here again. Seems like I'm always here.
Gasping in my dream I wake myself up. It takes a moment to realize I
am awake - the dream so real makes waking seem like
dreaming. A bedside clock tells me it's half past very late. In the
dark your smile is still warm on my heart. Tears come as I realize I've
left you behind again in the dream world. I'm so totally in love with
you I can't stand being without you.
I was here yesterday. I'm here again now. Seems like it's always
now. Seems like I'm always here.
Taking a deep breath I submerge immediately in the pool,
swimming
dolphin style
underwater,
enjoying the sudden silence, watching the oxygen needed
reflex become more and more urgent. When I can't remain submerged one
second longer I break the surface almost clear across the pool, lazily
scooping handfuls of water out of the way, enjoying stretching the
wings' muscles between my shoulder blades.
I'm here again. Seems like I'm always here.
Total peace and certainty coming when we're together isn't the
result of loving you: it is loving you.
There's no other place to be. There's nothing else to want. This
satisfies all desires. It's its own reward. There's no language to
explain it. There's no point in justifying it. It's just plain I
Love You with nothing else added. There's no
path to this point. If there were a path to
this point, it would be giving up all paths.
I was here last week. I'm here again now.
The terraced valley in front of me, the bubbling brook lazily
meandering through rockpools behind me, the mass of yellow mustard
beneath my feet, the azure and teal and flaming orange skies above me
show up, like a movie on a screen, against the background of my being.
It's everywhere. So, for it to show up against the background of my
being, am I.
Seems like I'm always here.
A rising sun splits open the night and the dawn pours in. Quail and
wild geese shriek, calling me "Won't you come out to play?". I drag on
sweatpants, grab a handful of carrots and walk barefoot outside the
cottage, blinking in the fresh morning air, inhaling its sweetness.
Bacchus the horse waits expectantly for me, his head leaning over the
paling fence, condensed breath from his nostrils emphasizing his
anticipation.
I feed him carrots, stroking the hard bridge between his eyes, waiting
for the day.