so the answer to that riddle is….
….they cannot see past their own selves
so remain invisible
unless I could be proven otherwise
but in this isolated moment that came to me the other night burning with fever, that separate plain wherein nothing else mattered but to keep afloat from danger; fighting my own dragon ….what is real but to be and to be really seen and exist in that truth
because the rest means nothing at all….
There are those isolated moments in life when it seems the noise all around you stops. You don’t hear the bees or the spinning wheels. Even sirens or car horns all stop. And becomes unimportant because it is all the white noise background in the barrage of firing guns of the drills of life. Doesn’t matter.
I see now that what I have been searching for has always been present but I never acknowledged.
For so long I have heard the voice of my mother say to me in the back of my mind, “you have everything you need.”
You know, she never said that to me while she was alive. But I have heard her tell me this now from somewhere when I am in that moment of meditational mindless thought.
But even as I write about being empathic; it really does not matter that I can connect telepathically. The answers were never out there. Perhaps not even the minds. I understand now, I think. Her words.
I think I realize why I have been a magnet of dangerous personalities.
I had thought it was some kind of punishment to me but it was something else. Something they sought to take that I never noticed was there….as—yes—they always come back to me ….when they realize they needed me more ….but I never noticed ….
And what I have searched for was never to be found
the riddle
is
now I see
….it was to be found
Today ….
There is a professor of literature who teaches at the university and it seems, lives down the next road. I didn’t know until today when I was accosted by his black lab. He tells me he’s been away all summer at his villa. I didn’t understand where. He speaks with a French accent. He seems to not know the neighbors which explains why no one ever mentioned him to me.
Yet, his dog has been obnoxious to me all summer. I ask him,
“so will he be nice to me now that I have been invited inside?”
“No. I doubt it,” he says, matter-if-factly
I want to say,
“maybe you can leash him?” as I rub my ankle where his teeth didn’t get through my boot. But I don’t say that.
As I throw the book into my backpack he calls to me what sounds like
“Return….jen-ever.”
I am almost all the way back when I figure out what that means
I have been ill the last few days. It has been so isolating. My world inside my mind. It is the only world I exist. My dreams have been so strange. When you are the one who does the care taking, there is no one who looks after you; not cared for. There is no one who notices. There is just this world. This world I have created. where will it go after….?
He comes to me when I dream. The surveillance runs; a film noir. Because it is dark. So dark inside. It glows blue. In the moonlight. He comes to me when I dream; a film noir. I wear the gps, but he is too far. Far away. Not close enough to reach me.
From the window where the blue moon glows. He fills the window. He fills the glow. I am addicted to sleep deprivation. It numbs emotions. It numbs feeling. Just as I am addicted to the high that comes from the exertion of a work out. I live on these as my drugs, and always have; the rituals occupy the obsessions; they play their haunting melodies; they are the playful riddles to keep me from mycelf
“I know what you need,” he says like my vampire in the night
“I need to get out of here.” I say as if I think I still dream. I am dreaming. This is all a dream. “If something were to happen to me, no one would ever know. No one would notice. If I disappear.”
“I would,” he says
But he is just a dream. My drawn of ink film noir; my mindfuck vampire of mine. He is the only one who truly sees me. Sees me for more than some fantasy. He sees me and cares for me; he is both mother and father to me
and lifts me, and wraps me
down the walls
across the fields
to towers that glow like silos in the moonlight
“No one would know if something happened to me. No one would care ….”
In the moonlight and under the stars through the skylight I watch
and hear the music that haunts my dreaming world….
“min lilla duva….”
my film noir
“Come here,” he reaches for me from the clamshell bed and places me upon his feet and swirls me into his waltz, his music echoing off the rounded walls
“I would know,” he tells me
