Beyond the Profile Post

Airports can be the start of something new like a Holiday, a new job or they can be the end of something. That moment when the holiday is over and you’re still happy, but know you’re going
back to normality.

So this is where I find myself, waiting for something new to happen, but knowing that at the end of it my life will have to go back to some sort of normality but I don’t think I know what it is.

I’m stood looking at two sets of doors my heart, hammering in my chest, my palms sweat a little. My mouth is dryer than a morning after too much drinking and my nerves are shot. I’m half excited and
half want to go and hide.

But I couldn’t run even if I wanted to. Your plane has landed and you’ll be here so very soon. It still feels like a dream and hope beyond hope I never thought it would get here when it all started. That
silly website, us talking about things that in time led to flirty comments and then a connection. Smiling I still remember the first time I heard your voice and that simple “Hey.” made me smile.
Even now months later I can close my eyes and see you fussing over the camera so that it caught your good side. And me laughing and saying it didn’t matter the side it all looked good.

Then I think back to the endless conversations from cars, hotels, kitchens and beds. Laid on my bed talking to you as you were laid on yours. Silly little things often meant the most for both of us and it just worked.
I’ve seen you move errant hair out of your eyes a thousand times but each time you do it, it draws me in and tugs at my heart. And the things we have talked about are always fun and yes at times the
time difference has killed us both and led to snappy moments. But I still love the 3am calls to say one of us is sorry or to wish the other goodnight, or to say were home and safe.

And then I look up and at the same moment I see you in the crowd of arrivals, the smile across my face a little wider now and my heart beats even faster. Were both grinning and I watch as you move
through the milling crowd towards me. Then before I know it you’re stood looking into my eyes and I’m utterly lost for words. Leaning forward I touch your fingers and in a moment your pulled into my
body, your head buried in my chest and your arms wrapped around me as hard as mine are around you.

“Wow, your heart is beating like mad.” You say looking into my eyes.

“It is a little yes.” I’m a little lost for words, so many things I want to say and no idea on where to start. Feeling your hand move and it lay on my chest I smile again.

“Did I do this?”

“You did yes.”

Kissing my cheek you whisper softly into my ear.

“Good, take me home. Please..”

Such few words and those I could never imagine hearing, but now I have. I don’t know how in what feels like a short space in time I’ll be forced to bring you back and watch you go. I already know I don't want to ever be far from your side.
 
You know the theory about multiverse right?

Parallel universe with everything same as ours but with small changes. I like to think that in one of those infinite universe there exists one where we end up together. You and I, just like in my dreams or those countless hours we spend talking about. Are those even dreams or just paradoxical flashes of that universe trying to collide with ours? Maybe sending a signal to do the right thing. Maybe dreams after all.

Maybe in that universe, you and I are not miles apart but sitting right next to each other. Your hands in mine and I keep falling for you every time you look into my eyes. I don’t hesitate over little things. No second or third or twelfth thought or backspacing before I ask you what I want to. Where silence is not our rival but ally as I sit next to you. Where you don’t think about the right and wrong.

Maybe in that universe, you love me like I’m the one. We wake up next to each other, skin to skin. You’re happy. I’m happy. The night before flashing in both our minds. I know that because I can see the contentment in your eyes. You know that because of the pattern I’m trailing down your back I always trail when I’m thinking about you. Soon you start making plans about going to this bistro tucked at the corner of this street after strolling through your favourite museum. And I let you because we both know I will follow you anywhere.

Maybe there, in our lives happiness isn’t as rare as an antimatter and sad times just visit us once a decade like a distant relative. In that universe, nothing seems impossible once you look into my eyes and tell me that you love seeing the shades of autumn in the brown of my eyes. And your own eyes sparkle like the reflection of moonlight we once saw that night, strolling next to the lake. Here, you are right next to me and I’m not wishing I was somebody else. We no longer have to wait a lifetime to do the things that we want to do.

So you see, it’s not our fault that we are not together. It’s all science and astronomy. Blame Universe. Heck, blame multi-verse because there is a fair chance that either of us are in the wrong universe.

Isn’t that a bit comforting?

You know what else is comforting? In one of those universe, I love you and you let me.
 
xyzrp said:
You know the theory about multiverse right?

Parallel universe with everything same as ours but with small changes. I like to think that in one of those infinite universe there exists one where we end up together. You and I, just like in my dreams or those countless hours we spend talking about. Are those even dreams or just paradoxical flashes of that universe trying to collide with ours? Maybe sending a signal to do the right thing. Maybe dreams after all.

Maybe in that universe, you and I are not miles apart but sitting right next to each other. Your hands in mine and I keep falling for you every time you look into my eyes. I don’t hesitate over little things. No second or third or twelfth thought or backspacing before I ask you what I want to. Where silence is not our rival but ally as I sit next to you. Where you don’t think about the right and wrong.

Maybe in that universe, you love me like I’m the one. We wake up next to each other, skin to skin. You’re happy. I’m happy. The night before flashing in both our minds. I know that because I can see the contentment in your eyes. You know that because of the pattern I’m trailing down your back I always trail when I’m thinking about you. Soon you start making plans about going to this bistro tucked at the corner of this street after strolling through your favourite museum. And I let you because we both know I will follow you anywhere.

Maybe there, in our lives happiness isn’t as rare as an antimatter and sad times just visit us once a decade like a distant relative. In that universe, nothing seems impossible once you look into my eyes and tell me that you love seeing the shades of autumn in the brown of my eyes. And your own eyes sparkle like the reflection of moonlight we once saw that night, strolling next to the lake. Here, you are right next to me and I’m not wishing I was somebody else. We no longer have to wait a lifetime to do the things that we want to do.

So you see, it’s not our fault that we are not together. It’s all science and astronomy. Blame Universe. Heck, blame multi-verse because there is a fair chance that either of us are in the wrong universe.

Isn’t that a bit comforting?

You know what else is comforting? In one of those universe, I love you and you let me.
Click to expand...
That is so good!
 
from Rilke ~

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

~ from Book of Hours
 
That's @xyzrp for you. A wise, old soul in a sweet, young, beautiful body. She, who cares more than anyone can have the mortal capacity to care. She, who will stand by you, when others leave your side. Hugs and love to you, girl. xo
 
to wake up and say oh my god I might be turning into mr jones the racket shake rattle rolling fuel for this pocket rocket set to roar as if his loaded guns were for hire or misfired heat I can’t do that living embedded I’ve made mine and now I have to lie in it within this musty din I won’t say sin but once because it’s a continuous lineage anyway like fracking and feeling the after rumbles of want and regret the snake swallowing its tongue wrapped around its tail there’s no reup for the company man who stands naked as a coat rack hang the top hat low and maybe no one will notice the attention that calls out its neglect like the neck of a swan erect in a song of longing too long yet not yet long enough to call this bluff buffing of the peter principal in class all assonance hiding between the capital eyes rising with the slivery moon shots piercing the smoke of broken mirrors in long hallways of a reflected dead man walking his way through shattered chatterings and clamorous amour or less. and less. and less is more. and more. like a moray eel speaking morals with teeth that hiss toward some sense of broken bliss still beckoning toward whatever reckoning of the will led by the dripping of a leaky faucet looking for a drain and what remains is the day for night bite of the eyes that nibble and suck and draw toward erasing effacing chasing ways of seeing deeply in the wild mesmer of transferred trolley car rides right to the end of the line which is wherever he jumps off before the crash that never comes over and over in that thick air of nothing ventured except a weight gained in fasting on sweet fat calories of. and of. and of. and uff. and uff. and uff. can’t get uff. there’s never enough of the of that wants the uff in still unstuffed proportions like some waxed cadillac lacking in its length ‘cause the cause was lost before the battle raged in its all about aging and dis/engaging and rearranging to go another round on this sweet roller derby dizzy dance to the flat lined last line looking for its end rhyme.
 
"What is life without beauty, without meaning, without love." Yup. And for me poets like Mr. Rilke, who can take me further into the sweet dark mysteries of inner light.
 
When dusk slowly sets and all that's left is you and you and you

Your recognizance of that
Painful but definite

Questions that cannot be answered by no one other than you

Answers that you rebel against because they are not... what your heart desires... not what your mind accepts... not what your soul acquiesces to

A fool I am. I can see that, even in the darkness of the echoes that speak to me

There was never an answer
For the question never mattered

There was never a meaning
Other than what I gave it

In that moment of clarity, all you can do is breathe
Give in and give in and give in

You ascribed meaning to it
You breathed life into it when it just begged to fade
The fool that you are
The fool that I am. I. Am. I. Am.

And you know what?
That's ok
Because it just is
The way it is
 
Pistil said:
to wake up and say oh my god I might be turning into mr jones the racket shake rattle rolling fuel for this pocket rocket set to roar as if his loaded guns were for hire or misfired heat I can’t do that living embedded I’ve made mine and now I have to lie in it within this musty din I won’t say sin but once because it’s a continuous lineage anyway like fracking and feeling the after rumbles of want and regret the snake swallowing its tongue wrapped around its tail there’s no reup for the company man who stands naked as a coat rack hang the top hat low and maybe no one will notice the attention that calls out its neglect like the neck of a swan erect in a song of longing too long yet not yet long enough to call this bluff buffing of the peter principal in class all assonance hiding between the capital eyes rising with the slivery moon shots piercing the smoke of broken mirrors in long hallways of a reflected dead man walking his way through shattered chatterings and clamorous amour or less. and less. and less is more. and more. like a moray eel speaking morals with teeth that hiss toward some sense of broken bliss still beckoning toward whatever reckoning of the will led by the dripping of a leaky faucet looking for a drain and what remains is the day for night bite of the eyes that nibble and suck and draw toward erasing effacing chasing ways of seeing deeply in the wild mesmer of transferred trolley car rides right to the end of the line which is wherever he jumps off before the crash that never comes over and over in that thick air of nothing ventured except a weight gained in fasting on sweet fat calories of. and of. and of. and uff. and uff. and uff. can’t get uff. there’s never enough of the of that wants the uff in still unstuffed proportions like some waxed cadillac lacking in its length ‘cause the cause was lost before the battle raged in its all about aging and dis/engaging and rearranging to go another round on this sweet roller derby dizzy dance to the flat lined last line looking for its end rhyme.
Click to expand...


So very real. So very human. That nonstop train. Of thought.
 
these are the lines of time in which we are all moving
here are the rhymes upon metaphors always
painting and replacing the face of God

a fine madness that’s contained like a wild horse
fenced against open prairie in all directions—
the freedom of self-assertion corralled

And I’m wondering how to navigate space between
the laws and responsibilities of the natural world
and the open ended mystic experience of revelation

that sometimes pops up like a jack-in-the-box
or a weasel rubbing itself raw
against a mulberry bush.
___

When I cried, “I am!”
I burst into a thousand pieces of me, some sitting in stillness,
some fired with devotion to tasks at hand

and many like scatterlings randomly about, pursuing
each other or nothing, colliding or near-missing
in the spontaneous dance of a fine madness.

“Which one? Which One? Which one?”
they shriek. Or chant.
_____

He said, “Sing” and I tried to sing.
He said, “Song” and I tried to carry the tune.
He said, “Sang” and I longed for the refrain.
He said, “Sung” and I had to let the echoes go.

and all the voices rose and fell on distant waves of memory just the other side of time.

the words so tender whispered to the inner ear—“Oh my darling please surrender.”

I turned to you, a stone soul waiting to be polished in the ordering of things

(sometimes he felt the love so deeply and so close as to feel the settling of his soul in a home of roses and marigolds. and sometimes those voices felt so far away, echo of an echo of an echo.)
 
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