-- Bertrand Russell |
It feels a lot like joyIt feels a lot like joy.I'm not sure of how and why, only because I have to compare it with the joy that Jenni and Megan bring me... and that joy is real, I know, but it is a different kind, than this one.... Still, it feels a lot like joy. A lot more than happy. A whole lot more than most words can approach... I had a dream a few months ago in which I shared writing with someone over the net... in it I never saw her face, never really "read" anything concrete (that's the way dreams sometimes are)... I just remember awakening with a calm, tranquil, certain feeling... that I had connected with someone, that her words, and more than that, her SPIRIT, had come thru the lines to me... had identified me as kindred and returned to her with a piece of me...  In the dream, of course, I thought I knew her name, her work, her interests... Really, though, like dreams can be, It was all imagery... feelings... But the connection, the invisible touch of her hand, felt real enough to fall through the veil of the dream, tumbling on into the waking world with me. When I held it up in my mind for observation, I could see that all details were lost in transition, but that the FEELING of connection persisted. I thought first of Laurel, since hers was the only online connection I had really known, out of dozens of encounters with nameless, faceless people. But this felt more intense than that, even... it felt like YEARS ago... like the ache and the yearning of youth in need of love when it is fed for the first time... like the answer to the WHY inside me... And it left me, finally, a little sad, because it's so hard to fall back to sleep and pick up in the place you left off in such a dream... and I knew that there was no analog for that joyful, connected feeling in this physical world.... I took it as an expression of my subconcious of its own yearning... or maybe as an encouragement... to not give up, to do the work in my life... I dunno.... But. I felt it this morning. On the phone. In the silence. j a n e Like a feather touch on my face. Like a nod of recognition regarding every tale I've ever told. Like a blurring and blending of first love, first kiss, songs and dances, whispers and wonder, of all that is remembered as simultaneously calming and breathtaking in a few, almost eternal, moments of s i l e n c e Lovely. Lovely, she says. Yes, indeed. Wonder if the energy of that phone call was visible in some spectrum. It filled my head and heart and body like that combined scent and sound and taste and touch and vision of a lifetime of favorite memories. And I got lost in it. Like in the dream. But when it ended (after HOW long? I lost track for a while), I still knew what it was. j a n e So fine. Very different. I could stop right now and still be able to say my life was changed for the better by this new, shiny, beautiful friendship. But I don't want to. Hope she doesn't. What is it? What is the invisible vibe? The energy that has so sneaked up on me? It feels a lot like joy. And one day at a time is a just fine way to enjoy, absorb, hopefully share it. See where it leads. Allow the adventurer in me to see where she goes, what she says... what she w r i t e s . . . j a n e Any place in my life is a place you may reside. Please... make yourself at home, please, in your own time, at your own pace, at whatever rate you feel comfortable. Tell me how I might help you. m y f r i e n d because you have already helped me i m m e a s u r a b l y |
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Meanwhile, consider it a museum piece from the early web). :)
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