|Blogs > rm_TappyTibbins > Better Left Than Never|
Do you believe in magic?
Do you believe in magic?
I cannot remember most of the unforgettable people I have met over the years. My memories of the past are almost as clear to me as my impressions of the future; vague, indefinite visions that taunt me, laughing. They are the life-long friends, rivalries, lost loves and petty victories of long ago, and not yet come. They surround me and suffocate me with their pity and derision. I am no more able to run from them than I am from my own self-image, and so I try, as best as I am able, to ignore the catcalls of my dusty pasts and uncertain futures, and take what solace the moment offers.
The moment, however, is a flighty creature. An eggshell lover; desired by all with eyes to see, yet far too fragile to hold. And, while my past may feed on regret and the future on waiting, the moment has an appetite only for belief. Thankfully, belief is the one thing I possess in abundance.
There are many things in which I believe and many more I wish to believe, although I am not always able to tell the difference. There are moments in which I truly believe, without hold or hesitation, that I am William, born into this world by Arthur and Madeline in the year nineteen hundred and seventy-six. My life in these moments of filial clarity is unremarkable. Safe, terrible, tragic and amusing perhaps, but utterly devoid of...
There are other moments though. Rare moments, delightful, fanciful moments, that sing to me a song I think I might once have known, but have long since forgotten. It may be an instant, a passing glimpse of recognition in the eyes of a stranger, or a slight whispering of clouds that set the shadows dancing, but in these moments, everything changes. My life, my memories, my hopes and pains are the same. My family, my friends, my acquaintances, they are all still there; ghosts gasping and clutching at reality. The world reveals itself as a reflection in the face of a still lake, my yearning driving me not upward into that which casts the shimmering images, but rather below. I strain to break the surface tension and sink deep into the clear waters. Alice, through the looking glass.
In these brief, fleeting moments I am not William, although I do not know my true name; as though I had hidden it someplace safe many years ago, somewhere I would never lose it, and then promptly forgot where that place is. These are moments where Magic is not a card trick, but rather a fragile, potent elixir distilled from early morning dew, collected off the wings of sleeping butterflies. Where faeries, pixies and wraiths trickle from the dreams of sleeping children to scamper away and hide, around the next corner or just outside and behind peripheral vision.
But these moments, like all moments, pass. I find myself once again born and shriveled in a world where romance is a comfortable back seat or beautiful flowers cut from their life, given to love, and then set into a pot of chemically treated river water until dead.
I yearn to know my true name.
I somehow occurs to me now that, long ago it seems, someone might once have tried to tell me. Whether through fear or distrust, I did not listen. What is left of me now I breathe out into this ether and wait. This is not a place of laws and reason, this in-between land of letters. The lines are blurred -- fiction and reality, passion and sexuality, hurt and pleasure -- my old friends all have faces born of different fathers. I meet and greet the second-hand flavors of today's tides. I can not please them all, and won't even try.
5/26/2005 8:33 am
WOW! there are many things i could say, but WOW! this is why i've been hanging on and reading your blog. i don't know your true name - does it matter? (perhaps you have not one name, but many) -- but your writing is exceptional. keep going --- keep looking for the magic, your magic-writing is not a cardtrick...|
WOW! there is no such thing as dreaming --- it's all real... magic?? you are full of it... whatever your true dream is, it has power in it... yes, there is the bland tedium to make you doubt, to make you question, but you know where it is you wish to go, and you will find a way to get there...