Morning, and Look!
Aug. 28th, 2005 07:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormI'm still half in dreamland, half a foot in sleep and half a foot in character. The other foot is all me, pulled towards the almmost-maudlin, the listening-to-intensely-sad-songs and remembering things. We all need mornings like this; it's the morning before a birth, before the birth of my boat, and so I retread endings a little bit.
I'm more in love with life, with my life, with the lives that intersect mine in various ways, every day. When you use a pottery wheel the clay flops around at first as it spins in a circle until it very suddenly becomes a perfect, perfectly centred cylendar between your hands. Then you can pull the walls of the pot up and they just... come. It's like magic, having them flow upwards like that after wrestling with the clay to get it centred. That's where my life is now; I've centred it, it's where I needed it, and the walls are rising.
I want to capture this feeling on 'paper'. I want you to feel this thing inside me right now: it's nostalgia maybe? It's a very powerful love for my past, a little sad for the fact that it's over, but very strong. I know that in the future I'll look back on this point and realise that I made mistakes, especially in the strange and complicated dance that is my relationship with the Juggler now. I know, too, that it won't matter so much. My friends feel like pillars, huge strong logs thrust up through me in a rock-steady support. I don't think I could wobble if I wanted to, though let's face it-- who wants to?
So, I'm retreading endings, and I can't fall down while I'm doing it. I remember the folk festival days in Kynnin's mom's house, both with Kynnin there and with Jan too, and the music playing, and walking down the road to the Fest. I remember that day, laying on his futon frame up in the room in Langley, that I thought: we will look back on this day as the beginning of something, as us starting out together beign crazy twentysomethings. I remember the moon through my bedroom window before I even met any of you, any of you at all, and crying because it was beautiful and I had no one to tell. I remember the trees I loved in my home growing up. I remember the airport, and Jan. I remember the feel of my boat under my hand.
My boat. Off, now, to finish her.
I'm more in love with life, with my life, with the lives that intersect mine in various ways, every day. When you use a pottery wheel the clay flops around at first as it spins in a circle until it very suddenly becomes a perfect, perfectly centred cylendar between your hands. Then you can pull the walls of the pot up and they just... come. It's like magic, having them flow upwards like that after wrestling with the clay to get it centred. That's where my life is now; I've centred it, it's where I needed it, and the walls are rising.
I want to capture this feeling on 'paper'. I want you to feel this thing inside me right now: it's nostalgia maybe? It's a very powerful love for my past, a little sad for the fact that it's over, but very strong. I know that in the future I'll look back on this point and realise that I made mistakes, especially in the strange and complicated dance that is my relationship with the Juggler now. I know, too, that it won't matter so much. My friends feel like pillars, huge strong logs thrust up through me in a rock-steady support. I don't think I could wobble if I wanted to, though let's face it-- who wants to?
So, I'm retreading endings, and I can't fall down while I'm doing it. I remember the folk festival days in Kynnin's mom's house, both with Kynnin there and with Jan too, and the music playing, and walking down the road to the Fest. I remember that day, laying on his futon frame up in the room in Langley, that I thought: we will look back on this day as the beginning of something, as us starting out together beign crazy twentysomethings. I remember the moon through my bedroom window before I even met any of you, any of you at all, and crying because it was beautiful and I had no one to tell. I remember the trees I loved in my home growing up. I remember the airport, and Jan. I remember the feel of my boat under my hand.
My boat. Off, now, to finish her.
