Monday, November 11, 2013

On breaking up

Like a piece of an iceberg breaking off, a cold crack, and bitter bitter pain. Your love is going to melt into the sea of other loves and warm with the mingling of tropical waters. You have both affected me profoundly. You have cared and encouraged me when I was just a kid, really. The energy of your love is dying and I am mourning a union which was definitive of my late teems and entire twenties. I don't say this to make you more sad, but only to actualize the notion that your relationship is really bigger than the both of you and it encompasses loads of friends and family members who seek nothing but the happiness for you both. It truly shows me how the energy of others is felt even across ocean waters and mountains. 

Sunday, November 10, 2013

A wrote to you tonight that I was sedentary in thought. Of course, what I wanted to say was that I want to come running back into the cradle of your words. Earlier, in class, my professor read a letter which had been found underneath a floorboard of a house during a renovation. It was dated 1901. The letter, of course, was beautifully written- the dance of the ink on the page formed words not needing to be straightened by lined paper. His [the writer's] language was proper and deep feeling. Its syntax, rich. The class commented that we, the collective USA, don't send letters like that anymore. And I smiled to myself, knowing that I had received letters so eloquently written they would bring you to tears while you were eating your morning cereal. And that I had daily received such letters for years during our love. On cards, in emails, scrawled on post-its in your distinct ALL CAPS scratch.

And then as quickly as I remembered this, I also recalled that during my reanimation into a new lover, I buried all your letters and deleted all the electronic ones for fear of regret. Your words now mingle with the dust of the earth and with the pages of my lover's past loves. How desperately I want to read those words again. They stay like perfect diamonds in my memory, and the only thing that brings me joy is to know that perhaps one day, someone will find them and know that love letters like that existed in the 21st century. And that they were our letters during the brief time we stayed locked into each other. I have kept one letter. You wrote it to me on my 25th birthday after we split. I take it out when I'm feeling strong and swim on those words. And then always there are tears. Sometimes a few, and other times like rivers flowing over m face and soaking my collar bones.

I want to master the stories. I want to be a letter hunter and a word preserver. 

Friday, November 1, 2013

Chauvet Cave Rumination

Also tonight, I finished a documentary on a Paleolithic cave in France, Chauvet Cave, where the oldest known rock paintings were found. Carbon dated around 35,000 yrs ago, they are almost double those which we have previously known. There were 29,000 yr old torch marks, the charcoal dust accumulated at the source has been left undisturbed. Bear tracks cradle crystallized skulls of mammoths, wolf tracks walk side by side a child's. An ice lion and his mate snuggle against one another. Horses and rhinos dance. This cave has been crafted by early human magicians. They burned incense and made their palm prints in red. One had a crooked little finger.

What have I made my print on? I can remember back to a night I went out street stomping with some girlfriends in Boone and we passed the frame of an unfinished house. I pulled out a sharpie and wrote a love poem on the skeleton beams. Who will read those haste words? I can not even remember the street where we walked. It is my Chauvet cave and I hope one day someone will carbon date its ink.

It is in this way the modern life takes shape. Couples too smart to stay together. Wives brave enough to go it alone.