Asha,
The echoes of my own thoughts are cluttered with so many things. I need clarity which I fear I will never find alone. These are the things I never had the courage to tell you, the things I could never say and now I only write them to the echos of you which is all I have left. Never to touch, to hold you in my arms. Often I find myself reading this passage of a poem I like.
"Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that is certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting so long. "
I never remember how to spell the person who wrote it or the name...just it gets me you know.
I know this is weird, but in the end you saw the signs and thought me crazy, so maybe weird is less than crazy.
Tonight, like so many other nights I am drained. Since you, I often find myself alone, locked up in some grungy hotel room with a scotch in my hand, hoping the cool, burning liquid will numb the confusion inside. I have lost the ability to connect with people. The silence of my life forces me to try to make some sense of my past. I hope these letters to you will help me reconnect in some way or gain some insight into my mind. For you I hope they explain things... from my madness to the curse I will become to you when I give your life my destiny. The weight of it will follow to you. You are different like me...not insane you see but different. It isn't all that bad... You will not be alone.
Often my mind wanders back through time trying to sort through the weeds and see how I got here. Tonight is one of those nights where I find myself going back to the beginning. I do this often, trying to find the single variable that led me to this life. Not because I would seek to change it, I just need to understand why I am me.
My memories are a mess of images that make no sense, carrying emotions from two different worlds I was a part of and yet was never really a part of. My childhood seems like a blur with flashes of vividness. Most memories only accessed by different kinds of pain. Pain is the strings by which my mind remembers and sorts things. At 13 my body, soul and mind were ripped into two realities and then years later they were merged fitting together in an uneven pattern. The fears and joys of two people completely separated and completely connected at the same time.
The earliest strings lead me to where nightmares grow. A place in a child's mind that is as real as the air we breath. The ground is scorched black, teased with the skeletal like trees scattered across the sulfur. The sky has a dark blood red glow that gives the earth shape. I can still hear the panting and the feel the hot, humid breath upon my chest. Cats as black as night dance in the shadows near me, next to me, part of me.
From afar, from near, they are there and then not. The dark, reddish sky mixes into the blackness of every human soul. It is all I can see, everything else is lost in the shadows. Just outlines of hills and mountains in the distance. I dance in out of focus over each area. Seeing things that might of happened will happen, can't happen.
I remember feeling them seeing inside me, pulling my soul closer. As if that is what awaits me or who I am meant to become or where I come from...
My skin still burns with a feverish heat when I awake screaming. I am certain it was just a dream or at least that is what I must still tell myself, unable to accept the reality that at the tender age of five this was the darkness in my soul. Is it sad I still call my mom to pray over me after these demons come?
It is all I have from my early memories. The rest are flashes. It is the first and what drives me. I see things...I am something different.. Seeing what I saw perhaps you might not think me crazy.
I have another drink. This is how it usually goes for me when I am weak, when my defenses are down.
I can see my mother on one side crying not because of me, but because the man she married was a fool. I see the ghosts of some man driving me to learn more - teaching a child. I am Gebo there and Gebadia with my mother. Two realities split. One to learn humanity through pain because to understand people you must understand their pain and fears. To learn this you must first learn that pain through living it yourself. Pain is the price for knowledge, it was the fate of Gebadia. A boy who would always choose the wrong path for no reason other than to know the pain of that choice.
The external journey was one of the warrior. In this path I am Gebo, a boy molded into a weapon. This memory is clearer because it is more focused. Easier to see and accept than the other.
The splitting sounds worse then it was. An astral journey for one and a nightmare for the other.
The first thing I saw was the darkness open up around me and the yellow golden light reaching forth to embrace me. Then for a moment, and only a moment, I felt peace as I entered a meadow filled with pink, Chinese plum trees in full bloom. The petals swirled in the wind from the encirclement of trees teasing off my face. The grass - a shimming green teased with whites and pinks. One circle of trees meet a simple one room cottage that sat on 4 posts. The roof is these curved shingles.. I do not know what to call them.. they remind me of something I have seen in a movie...
The sky is what I want I imagine it to be. In fact that is what it is like...where they took me.. whatever I needed the place became. Simple is the path of the warrior, no complications.
I remember looking back and seeing myself through the fold. One boy to become a weapon, another to live in pain, all for one goal, one unknown purpose. Then almost without remorse the air, cool and sweet, seemed to take away all my fears shutting off the boy I see through the light.
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