I am not me, not anymore. What I am is a promise. A vision. Something that will have to be chiseled from stone, then forged in the fires of volcanoes, until all I am is a wisp of smoke, and I am lifted up high, high where eagles dare, and I am carried away by the north wind. I ride alone and along the currents that whip past me, I learn the name of the wind, I tell you all the names I shall give you, I tell you all the names I gave to the sea. The wind is an unforgiving mistress, though, and as it eddies about me, I am sent careening down, like this morning's morning minion. I careen down an infinitely winding expanse, tunneling down at speeds faster the ken of mortals, I am not I, I am the wind, the wind itself, it is I, or an eisegesis of I, I don't know, I can't go on, I must go on, where I am, where am I, in a time without time, where there is everything without a time, here and now, there and then, my god, I am everywhere and nowhere. Can you hear my heart beating? Do you know its song, its tempo? Take my hand, and guide it to you. My hand on your heart. Can you hear? How the low throbbing of our twinned pulses beat in time? And above us, the stars, only stars, how they light our eyes, and in our eyes myriad googolplexes of stars, our eyes are universes, gateways to what? to where? See there, see now, see how that man falls an endless fall down an infinite well, see how the patterns repeat themselves. Can you see? Can you understand? You do, far away in those distant shores, and us parted halfway through creation. It's a chasm I cannot bridge, not in this lifetime, but there will be an eternity of lifetimes, there will be a path back to your arms, I am Eros, you are Thanatos, but together, oh together we are united states of mind. I'm falling, and I can't stop now, it's too late, I've not yet begun to fall, I can still stop myself, my outstretched hand reaches out to I, I can't grasp I, I'm losing my balance, I fall, I fall, but the wind, the wind carries me aloft, I soar on wings I never knew I had, vast, majestic, see their beauty as they flap and I rise, so glorious, I am a star, the star of the morning, but my wings are clipped by some unseen hand, I am falling, falling again.
I wake in the middle of the night, sore and with the rusty taste of blood in my mouth. In the darkness of my room, I sit against the back of the bed, the metallic railing cold and biting into my flesh. My heart beats and in the dark I listen to its percussive melancholy rhythm. It tells me of a choice, one you chose, and wisely so. In the dark I smile, content, but not happy, alone, but not lonely, unliving, but not dead. I wake in the middle of the night, and think what a weird dream that was, that I was falling and then that I had woken up but I was still sleeping, but I am awake now. Am I? My bed swirls, spins, faster and faster, round and round, and round it goes - and where it stops nobody knows. It's magic, it was magic, it could only have been magic. When the moon is full we shall assemble to adore the potent spirit of your queen, my mother, great Diana. I'm there, aeons in the past, in that stretch of land by the sea where the sisters are loosed in a winter's night sky. Abracadabra. Abraxas. Magic. And I wake up again, though this time I doubt myself, I had been so sure, but of course now I know It's for real, because I think, and I remember, and it's cold, it's so cold, oh dear god please hold me, please hold me and see me through these nights until I go. Please. Please. Please forgive me, but I won't be coming home again.
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