Recognition |
His eyes are swollen shut and the lids are bruised and red the way they
looked at the mortuary.
The bandage is on his head hiding the wound
left by
the bullet he introduced to it and his whole body looks swollen.
|
| 
|
He is in a rage, recognizable from fights about sex or alchohol,
only amplified. That violent anger frightens me, aims to propel
me from the space.
I want to run.
|
He rushes at me, an angry bloated corpse.
I am horrified, but after weeks of heart wrenching agony and sorrow
that has stripped me to the bone, I am a ghost myself with nothing
to protect.
|
| 
|
I maintain the contact.
It is a moment of confrontation, recognition between forces. I step
towards him and begin to recite:
“Now I am confronting
the Clear Light
of objective reality…” |
| 
|
No mouths move.
Thoughts reverberate, fragment, pixelate throughout the
space as sound and light. They disingrate and overlap.
Things are transparent and bright, like whale bones bleached in the sunlight.
And, although my heart is burning with real love, as I approach he
withdraws...
...into the shadows.
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