Simple things

Shape of the Self

What do you desire?
Does the answer not reveal your concern?
Your desire reveals the very shape of self: 
That in you which wills it's self-satisfaction.
Would you visit the Oracle to Know Thyself?
Rather stay where you are:
Know your desire.
And you will know yourself.

Look up

 

Starlight through window

Who are YOU?

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

"Who are YOU?" said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, "I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then."

"What do you mean by that?" said the Caterpillar sternly. "Explain yourself!"

"I can't explain MYSELF, I'm afraid, sir" said Alice, "because I'm not myself, you see."

"I don't see," said the Caterpillar.

"I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly," Alice replied very politely, "for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing."

"It isn't," said the Caterpillar.

"Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet," said Alice; "but when you have to turn into a chrysalis--you will some day, you know--and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little odd, won't you?"

"Not a bit," said the Caterpillar.

"Well, perhaps your feelings may be different," said Alice; "all I know is, it would feel very odd to ME."

"You!" said the Caterpillar contemptuously. "Who are YOU?"

Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation.

Old places

Afternoon reflections

What you mean to me cannot be put into words and yet not to try is a great failure.
If a memory is but a brain recollection, why does the thought of you cause my heart to ache?
There was a time, when we were younger, when our beliefs circumscribed the limits of our passion, but those inhibitions only drew desire in that much more tightly.
I remember tree bark and snowballs, bus stop dropoffs and pickups. 
I remember the smell of your hair.
In partings and reunions there's always a vision of your smile.

There have been storms.
It's funny we both love the rain.
What are years compared to a heart's longing?
What is a life without love?
And yet, how can I touch the heart of things without touching you?