Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Immersion to inversion

It happens once in a while; you look askance and see things in a whole new light. Almost as though a shaft of heaven pierces the veil of normality around you and all takes on a golden glow. But no one else can see it. Just you. Maybe you wonder if your eyes cast a new sheen or if your skin swallows some of the glow and it begins to bubble like soda does in the back of your throat with a really good laugh. You might feel like, all of a sudden, it's all just too perfect. Too wonderful. But the best part of it is that you're not yet touched by the fear of loss that can accompany such a realization. You're still bathed in it; swimming with the tiny bubbles of 'now' that swell around you, expands within you, and hopefully, spills out of the pool when the light dims and you emerge, breathing in the air that tastes new because you have not been breathing it for a while.
I'm standing by the pool, seeing the light fade but holding the image in my mind and feeling my heart beat with joy that doesn't come from without but rather from within.
Because he smiled and he's so damned adorable and we've carved out an island for ourselves amidst this ocean of undercurrents.
I'm calm now. Not pensive or reflective or sad or fearful - I'm becoming the stillness of the pool after I've left it. The ripples becoming undulations that ease into swaying before the images of the world, where once fractured, begin to coalesce and become recognizable, though inverted and thereby revealing.
So I look. I see.

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