Taking no prisoners. Including herself.

If I had only 10 minutes left, this is what I would tell the world:

This is it. This is the moment. Wait no longer. You are beautiful. You shine. The love that’s in your heart is the most powerful thing good you have ever seen, and when you wake up to that, and remember your soul, I will be flying by on a similar web, every heart connected, spider woman.

The thing is, 10 minutes isn’t enough. I have to have my whole life to be able to tell this story. It’s a story ancient and Now, reeling with immediacy and age. I am your Generations. And here I am, an aperture opening, wider, wider, let me fall in.

Dear world, Dear Love, Dear Survivor, you’ve come this far now. Don’t turn back. Don’t turn back into the fearful cold, don’t shield your eyes from the blazing new sun, raging on a terror, ripping through the night sky to bring you aching light. The mountains seem to skewer her, but she is far beyond, millions of miles away, her heat traveling cycles of pain and glory to do nothing more than kiss your neck. Let her in. Let her slice open that small tender place between your breasts and push open your narrow doorways. Let her in.

You remember how.

I would describe to you this morning, my last morning, my last breath of this life, and the I would be at peace: if I could sufficiently translate to you the magnetism of this dawning, the halo cresting the crown of the Earth, everything a matte silhouette of the Earth against the Earth, purple dirt and purple sky, creamy as your mother’s milk, no glimmer or gloss, no sparkle, no shine, just the rough contours of a body, without dimension, stark.

This is the Moment of Possibility, when there is no heaven, just earth, there is no pain or joy, there exists no future or past – here we are. The only thing left is a bittersweet longing, it grows in intensity, there is so much so say, so much to share, the world hasn’t yet woken, it’s still early yet, do you wake them? Do you wake them? Do you rip open their bed sheets like eye lids undone, breathe lightning into their skulls, shake them with sound, chanting “Gotcha, gotcha, Glory has gotcha. Never turn back, Grace is here, Grace is HERE”

and with a screaming of your heart you destroy all their boundaries-if for only one moment-your seconds are dwindling-the clock counting down-“there is something to tell you-I need you to listen-there isn’t much time left,-please hear me!”

And they turn to look at you, eyes dewing from sleep.
What is it? What’s so urgent? What have you really got to say?
A Pause. Another silence. All inverses. Your mouth cracks: “I love you. I love you.”
And you turn and walk away.


§1338 · September 10, 2013 · Freewrites, Writing & Language · Tags: , , · [Print]

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