Monthly Archives: April 2006

writing

04/17/2006 – The One Who Wore My Ring – (c)

04/17/2006 – The One Who Wore My Ring – (c)

Let me see your hand, so that I may remove that one object, the thing of meaning, that you by your life, by your very many white lies have invalidated. This symbol, representing the circular path you’ve been on, walking aimlessly, asleep, blinded to the very existence of beauty just out of reach. Those deep pools of brown lose focus as you stare up at me, unknowing and afraid of what I am about to do, and why. Don’t you see the promise that this object represented? The deeper consequence of being a wanderer? Can’t you see the path in front of you, along either side strewn with the fatalities of words used to create one moment and forget the rest? Corpses of trust rustling in your footsteps as you blindly stumble along, changing masks with each step out of control as you fall!
Were the worlds you created perfect? Did they have color or texture? Were they Rembrandts hung on the walls of your prison, stacked so high you could no longer see the other side? Picasso in frightening poses reaching to a world that can not exist? Degas? Reuben? Tell me, were your works of art any comparison to the vivid reality of this moment when your lifes symbol is taken away? When it is so carefully, lovingly removed? How do the moments compare, when viewed from inside a prison of these visions, painted in false words covering the frame of reality?
Or were these vignettes you played for us, on our common stage, so vulgar to you that you created even more so that you could run away into them? Were they imperfect in their creation? Could you see the cracks in the facade? Did the dim rays of life that made it through to you make them pale by compare? What were they like? These tapestries you wove for us, thread by painstaking thread, as they were ripped apart for you? Did they provide you warmth? Comfort? Were they better than my arms? My embrace? Is it easier to forget if you create another world in which to view yourself? A world of fantasy.
Yes, you can take for granted, now, that we all know your secret. The secret, the one you trembled to defend as you stood naked and afraid behind your walls to protect. You are transparent to us now, your signs easily read to all the passers-by in your life. We have each in our own ways called you on it. We know your tricks, the way you hide your eyes, the tremble in your voice, the slight tremor in your hands. Oh, you dance well enough around the subject. Fred and Ginger could learn a few moves from your sweeps across this floor. But in that moment when you offer your stories, you’re caught in them and don’t notice how we see you, alone and afraid.
Why can’t you join us? Wholly and completely in this circle? Where lies are not tolerated, because honest life is its own reward? Where who you are is nothing compared to what you could become? Where potentiality has power over this reality and each person of thought and mind are equals in their own experience. Yes, we see you as an equal, or at least I do. Someone who has his own path, his own journey ahead of the complete collection of his past and cumulative reality. Where here, now, in this moment, he is the perfect expression of himself.
Realize that nothing has changed between us. Though, you no doubt feel a change, its reality is inside you and you alone. I’ve never abandoned this post I took. I’ll never be able, through my own journey, to put down the arms I took up in support of you. My heart will forever be open to you.
And though this ring now rests on my finger, it will always belong to you in part. And even my love, though you have turned your back, will always be at your door.

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