Tuesday May 21, 1991
After two years of solitariness and silence in which I've failed either to lose or find myself, I'm returning. I can no longer write "returning home" for I am home now.
Here I sit on a gloomy cold Spring day sorting out my feelings. I'm unconcerned with issues of coming and going. I am not simply traversing the physical space between here and there. It is instead an exchange of one life for another.
And I'm not simply realizing that this life, as does all life, ends. No I'm staring Death in the face, knowing exactly the moment when those bony fingers will reach out for me. I must say my goodbyes and goodbyes make me sad. I search for consolation in fantasies of the afterlife. And so I construct a paradise where words and ideas flow freely, where there is always a celebration of dance, theater and music...and where the streets are filled with libraries, book stores, familiar foods, and easy conversation.
I begin the dialogue with my selves across the water. At night I cannot sleep because it is your day.
Posted by M Sinclair Stevens
May 21, 2002
Share Your Thoughts
I begin the dialogue with my selves across the water. At night I cannot sleep, because it is your day.