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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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I'm Asking
Read 'Em And Weep After Mitch left yesterday, I went off to a local coffeeshop. It had been a frequent Mitch hangout for a time after he moved back here, and before I met him. I had also frequented the coffeeshop when I began the climb into the final semesters before getting my degree and used to spend hours there studying, but our paths had never crossed then. After the coffeeshop first opened, he had donated to their gaming shelved several packs of cards--the kind you can get for the asking on trains and planes--that he had collected in his various travels. It was about a week before he left that he showed me these cards. On each was written the date and destination of his travels. As he was planning to leave, I went back to the coffeeshop and pulled out a deck of cards. I began to write on the back of each one a bit of his story and of my part in his story. I drew them from the deck as the last person to play with them had left them. It was the luck of the draw which card came out next, which card had the next part of the story on it. Later, when I told him I had done this, started this, he said, "That may be the only place my story gets published." We talked briefly about how he wanted to someday write a book about his life. Yesterday, after he left, I went back. I wrote a few more cards, stayed connected with the sadness. The Demon Who Always Does The Right Thing called and we talked for a bit. It rained, too. I went home. Stayed connected, stayed present. I took Frida out for a ride, went to my dance class, was fine until Peter Gabriel began to sing: "I'm asking why. I'm asking why. I'm asking why." "Open up!" the teacher called out.
More lies:
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