Got a new pen today. So fine it allows me to write cursive when I’m printing, never picking up the pen, creating fine, interconnecting webs between each and every letter, word and line.
I am wasting breath to murmur that a keyboard will never replace this feeling, like another part of me, lost then found, the feeling of a new lover, companion, muse alight on my fingertips, resting in my hand. The possibilities are endless and she is beautiful.
There is a cup of coffee on my desk and a palette drying on the window seat. I last slept early Monday morning. I am thinking a lot. I am remembering.
I am wondering where you are.
I am glad you are near.
I am alone without you.
You are always within reach.
“If you stay so accessible you will never be respected.” Who told me that? It was in an email. A generic Hotmail account with a string of letters and numbers. I think it was spam. Randomly targeted cyber vomit.
If you could email Bill Gates or Donald Trump or George Bush and know that he’d read your message, what would you say?
It rained today, long and hard, and flooded my mind with thoughts of water. Bubble bathes, chi tea boiling, wet highways, drowning, baptism. I thought about the sterilization of humanity. The changing structure of everyday life.
I thought about falling in love. About spiritual responsibility. About whether or not the soul has memory before and beyond life here. I wondered why you once told me, filled with sorrow and in a dark car driving no where to see no one, that you didn’t believe in the soul.
I have more important things to do.
Like breathe. And sleep. Cook for a friend. Call my congressman.
And precisely because I have more important things to do, I will, instead, sit here and allow myself to be romanced by the simple, honest, satisfying movement of pen across paper. To be amazed by the truth that somewhere right now, in the darkness of this night, you are sleeping—or not—you who would do anything for me. You who seem God-sent. Because you see me fully and have turned me, like a marble, in your hand. I am just what I appear to be. I am who I say I am. I walk as I say I walk.
There is no luck. There is only Divine strategy.
Thank you. I love you.
I know.
E.J.
