'In an ever changing world of gender, who knows what I'm going to end up being. But in the end, I want to morph into something I'm comfortable with.

Tuesday, June 10, 2003  

i like the way morning can be so stormy
and the afternoon,
as clear and sparkling as a jewel in the water.
put your hand in the water
and reach for a sea urchin or a seashell,
and the thing desired
never quite lies where you had lined it up to be.
the same is true of love.
in prospect or in contemplation,
love is where it seems to be.
reach in to lift it out and your hand misses.
the water is deeper than you had gauged.
you reach further,
your whole body straining,
and then there is nothing for it but to slide in
-deeper, much deeper than you had gauged-
and still the thing eludes you.

my search for you,
your seach for me,
is a search after something that cannot be found.
only the impossible is worth the effort.
what we seek is love itself,
revealed now and again in human form,
but pushing us beyond our humanity
into animal instinct and god-like success.
the love we seek overrules human nature.
it has wilderness in it
and a glory that we want more than life itself.
love never counts the cost,
to itself or others, and nothing is as cruel as love.
there is no love that does not pierce the hands and feet.

merely human love does not satisfy us,
though we settle for it.
it is an ecampment on the edge of the wilderness,
and we light the fire and turn up the lamp,
and tell stories until late at night
of those great loves lost and won.

the wilderness is not tamed.
it waits -beautiful and terrible-
beyond the reach of the campfire.
now and again, someone gets up to leave,
forced to read the map of themselves,
hoping that the treasure is really there.
a record of their journey comes back to us in note form,
sometimes just a letter in a dead man's pocket.

love is worth death
death is worth life.
my search for you,
your search for me,
goes beyond life and death
into one long call in the wilderness.
i do not know if what i hear is an answer or an echo.
perhaps i will hear nothing.
it doesn't matter,
the journey must be made.

//Jeanette Winterson - The PowerBook.

muttered @ 10:49 PM.

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