Ebbs and...

Today after an incredibly successful week, an incredibly productive couple months, I woke up feeling like a broken little piece of glass someone accidentally found in the sand. Sometimes consciousness has to be recollected like a lost fragment. Recollect how it got here to this non-place and this everything place.

I wish washed over myself in a worry of drownings. Always the fear of drowning. Except for literal drowning: the ocean is exquisite. Water calms and soothes, Lake Michigan can do this for me as well. A few days ago I walked out onto the beach which was a frozen-over glacial tundra, icy blue hills and valleys with brown sand peeping out in clumps. The water impossible dark blue behind the tundra hills. My soul was calmed immediately like a baby returning to the breast.

Memory foam

All these words to say to you apparently but they melt into the skin upon contact. The voids allow for words to become the material of contact. Later they can barely keep up with the impulse to kiss. Speaking is lost under kissing, touch itself confirms the word. The word is to be touched in my mouth, hands, between my legs the word begs to be spoken. The deep, aping word of the flower petals opening and begging. Speak body, the openings phrases for you to read, this braille we read in the flesh, flex with the tissue between sentences, comma, kiss.
"I need to reform myself to the mattress."
"Reform yourself to my body." 
Open the eyes or close them and the knowledge is the same. He/she will not disappear.

It was like that reassurance I felt last time after seeing my former (tragedy-inclined) chess partner. The feelings brought on by him had inspired this sense of self, this continuous sense, knowing that I'm still here, with or without him I'm here and somehow the reassurance wasn't that he was the same but that I was the same and would remain so upon leaving. I refound myself in a bleak little room despite the defiant air with which we said goodbye I was saying hello to myself. It was only a beginning in my relationship with myself.

So now upon knowing that I'm here, the knowledge of non-disappearances. Despite mortality, the knowing that all will continue to be and be. Even the seeming permanence of the stars is non-permanent, is old light. We look at ancient history when we look at the sky at night. Who knows what quickens the pulse of the universe thousands of light years away? What word chimes between her legs? Maybe she lays clocks like a hen, alternate realities ticking inside.

I'm hatching a few.

Object permanence is a constant concept to re-evaluate. All life long. If I close my eyes will you still exist? The young child doesn't know yet, mother leaves into a realm of non-existence. Mother reappears and she is reborn. The mind is remade every time mother appears and reappears. Birth and rebirth is introduced. Attachment is a series of relationship births and deaths over and over again. A constant reincarnation of the self and the other and the other and the self and the mirror that comes back come back to the mirror look at yourself, smile, hopefully. Smile. The grin on that face that's your grin to have and keep it's probably not permanent but you know that you could make it again it's yours to make. Smile, melt into the word and the skin the word the skin that makes the word.