Bedroom hair, sleepy eyes. A sweep of blue smudged from last night like hazy sky over each eyelid, and a dark dark fringe.
Half Nefertiti, half waif, all his.
His palm clasped around the top of her arm, her cheek resting on the hollow at the centre of his chest. Each breathing in and out, in and out, like the rise and fall of an ocean, like the swell of a bud about to burst into bloom.

In the sliver between a dream and some half-formed desire, just behind my closed eyes this morning, I dreamt of us like this.

In my dreams of us there is always honey coloured light and smudges of the deepest blues.
All through the waking day I looked at you, and this evening, in the park at sundown, there it was again; the honey light sweeping across your cheekbones with all the glory of a high wind and smugdes of blue all around you like an aura, diffused by the bare branches and clouds.

And for a split second I didn't know if I was still dreaming, or if it really was a dream at all.

Because I'm supposed to be 'strong' on the phone.

Dearest Papa,

I love you so much, so much, so much.

I am right there holding your hand.

Please get well soon, soon, soon.

Love,
Me.

Yes!!

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.
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If I discover within myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.

- both, C.S. Lewis
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Funnily enough, the absolute, gritty physicality of spring makes me want to leap out of myself, open my arms to the cosmos and vanish, sprite-like, into the sunlit air.

Memoir

If:
The well-examined life leads you to think deeply about lives in general
But:
All thoughts about the outside stem from experiences on the inside
Then:
Is your view of the world ultimately half-baked
Or:
Is it grounded in a reality more solid than that which observation of others can provide?

---------------------------------

On another note:
Pomegranate tree or orange tree: Which is a more sensual one to have outside one's bedroom window?
I'm going a-planting this weekend.

I have a question about God. Who am I to ask?!

I am being driven near to tears with a question that everybody has but nobody has conclusively answered.

And in all honesty, there's a good reason why people don't ask it all the time, they just get on with their lives. But all of a sudden it seems imperative that I answer it.

Bah. I cannot even answer my research question and I am trying to answer questions about God.

This is a very rambly post

This is going to sound incredibly bad and I hope I do not have to eat my words, but I feel I must flag an epiphany I've just had:
------
There is a world of difference between 'I love him, I'm happy when I'm around him' and 'I love him, but God, it sears my soul sometimes'.
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I used to think the first kind of love was what I wanted. The happy, quite comfortable kind. But I rejected it at every turn. People who ticked all the boxes in terms of compatibility, matching, kindness, gentleness, sweetness (one of them overticked this box, but never mind him for now), I simply rejected every time we passed a sort of invisible dividing line between the 'beginning' and the 'real thing'.
I was happy in each one's presence.
I smiled and laughed a lot, had tonnes of fun, and some great sex and brilliant conversations.

But.
I was never so deeply happy that it hurt.
And never so deeply hurt that it felt ecstatic.

I am now.
And I hesitate to say it that way, because every time I profess a certainty, it crumbles to dust. Such is the way of this universe. No?
But since this is just cyberspace and since technically I'm just writing this on a blog, on the web, virtually in thin air, I think it should be safe to sound certain, so I'm just gonna say it:
I'm so happy, it hurts.
And sometimes, so deeply hurt, I can't feel it at all, and just laugh (genuinely, laugh) when I really expected to dissolve into floods of tears.

Is it because I've found The one?
Or is it because I've found the version of me that can be so deeply affected?
I think you can't have one without the other, personally.

No kidding

If I wrote down some of the things my friends back home say over the phone, and gave the verbatim transcript to someone, they'd think I had just conducted a pyschiatric interview.

Evidence:

Me: So what's been up with you?
Her: No. Yah. I mean. Yeah. I know. It's good. But it could be really bad.
Me: *struggling to hold phone, pick up ciggies and leave the office. Sorry, what?
Her: You know, it could be good. But it could be bad.
Me (a bit alarmed): Has something happened?!
Her: No. I just meant that I.. I... em... (much hemming and hawing) I... I did something. And I dunno.... it could be bad.
Me: Right. I'm in the office at the moment, actually, so em... tell me what it is, quick, and then I got to work.
Her: Hee. Heehee. Oh. Hee. (followed by uncontrolled and sustained giggling).
Me (*slightly annoyed): Listen. I'll talk to you later, k? I'm in the office. Bye sweets, love you!
Her: But but don't you want to know what it is?!
Me (*to self): No, not really.
Me: (*to her): Well you seem not to want to just spit it out.
Her: Ok. Fine. I'll tell you.
*Pregnant pause.
Her: (a whole silent minute later). Nah I'll tell you when you come home.
Okie bye sweety I love you soooooooooo (*said VVVVEEERRRRRYYY loudly) much!!

I'd completely get this conversation if it'd come from someone whose tiny details I love to hear and who loves to hear mine. But this sort of tininess doesn't seem like 'the sweet little things of daily life' to me, it seems more like small-minded rubbish.
Bah.
Growing out of friendships, friends, and my skinny jeans.
So basically,
Am a bitch. And fat.
Yay.

Alternatively:
This is the kind of scattishness that is calculated to annoy. In which case, damn, she got me. Bah.

2 Big Questions, on their way to being thought about nicely.

Why is it so hard to ask questions about God?
Three possible answers, simplified pour blog:

1.) There is no God; you cannot ask a question about a Nothing. Similarly, there is no way to answer a question about a Nothing.
(Though I know some physicists would disagree. Which leads us down some interesting paths...)
2a.) Humans have a design-flaw; they are driven to search, but incapable of making the final, decisive, irrefutable, replicable, empirically-demonstrable connection
2b.) God has a design-flaw; S/He drives us to search, but something about His/Her nature makes it incapable of being found.
This isn't as trite as it first sounds; think of all the men and women you know who're aching to fall in love - the paradox of wanting to connect is that the very desire makes it impossibly hard to do. (Again, no way of saying this concisely without sounding trite. So, apologies.)
3. God is in every Thing, every Time and every Process. You can only see something if you're outside the frame, and we're not; we're smack-bang in the middle of a Creation infused with the Creator, and we're constantly co-creating. We can't see It because we're in it.
(Short leap from there to: 'We can't see It because we're it. Which also leads us down some interesting paths, with a lot of Hinduism along the way. Most interesting. I shall have to read the Gita and the Vedas. [Since I'm going through a read the words of the Father binge.])

_____________________________________________

Am I really no longer scared of the word commitment?
For the longest time I've been feeling like a kid on a bike, asking her dad to come hold the handlebars, refusing to believe that she actually is riding all by herself. But lately, I've been turning my head as the bike moved, and realising: Hey! I'm doing this!
It's been 2 years since I've been living with M.
I love him more than I did - and deeper than I did - when we first started this experiment.

(Inshallah).
So basically, yay, I can do this. Wow?!