The year leapt,
after a mad fatuous February,
we marveled with breath
by superstitious calendaric math,
pawns of emperors and popes,
when we had been democratized and spare all January.
Imbolc stirs more than sap,
and uncounted days, winked over,
make permissible what is not strictly bound.
Janus was harsh and abundant
with me in turn, this season.
Whether the leap will rise or fall is remaindered
in months not yet mine.
“You were looking a gunman in the eye and I had to distract you.” “Let’s call a spade a spade. You kissed me.” “And you kissed me back.” “I’m not here to apologize.”
I dreamt of walking into a church, and helping arrange the pews, as a hateful sermon began behind me about how we are not called to love everyone, and I walked to the pulpit to contradict him. As I approached, I was overcome by first a white hot sensation of indignation, then the presence of God. I began speaking in my own voice, condemning his hypocrisy in anger, but then my body was gradually borrowed, and I levitated, rising up into the air, as Jesus spoke with more compassion and grace of loving all our brothers and sisters as one because we are a single spirit, and the icons became windows with living faces, radiant and alive, but I was too high against the ceiling when his spirit departed, and I had to break my fall against the shelves, where I was briefly stuck, my dress shredded and half decent. I went back to Anoakie’s house where I found Lindsay and a mermaid preparing for the parade in Olympia, and we cuddled some seals who had wandered in from the shore in bed. The church sent assassins to silence me, but I was dying anyway and didn’t care.
I’ve been thinking about Turing Patterns in personality, allowances, impedances, sibling differentiation theory vs. emulation. Ada Lovelace became who she was because of her father partly, the influence of his memory on her and her loved ones. Those of us with siblings become foils of them, and those of us with idols attempt to become them. How successful we are at each leaves us with ripples, valleys of what we are not, the shadows we avoid, ridges we have stretched ourselves toward, virtues we have attained.
I had an amazing conversation with Brenda this evening and I am still trying to answer several questions. When do I feel most myself? How do I ground myself in the world? What is worth staying here for? Do I believe it is possible to fall in love again and have it reciprocated? Do I believe people are capable of loving and understanding me? Does everything hurt so much I would rather not be here?
“Where did they go?”
“I do not know. Wherever magicians used to go, perhaps. Beyond the sky, on the other side of the rain.” – Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell