Today I get stuck in that place between sleep and waking and alternate between a blackness that is loud with Black Mirror and a deep blue that is my walls waking up on a foggy fall morning. It quiets then, but I can still hear the sound of the piano and the words in French.
Please show me something that isn’t mine
But mine is the only kind that I relate to
It’s a song that grew on me, but before today I didn’t know it was about what is happening to me because it hadn’t happened until now. But I know now. On the other hand, I don’t know what I am saying, so I’ll give you that one…
You can’t watch your own image
And also look yourself in the eye
I was someone’s conscience once, without my knowledge or consent. It chilled me when I found out about it, but this is not the same because I am myself and I don’t understand how that works. All I know is I can’t look away because I am empty enough that if I don’t see the reflection ( I would say shadow, but I am a shadow) evidencing that I am here, I think I will be swept off.
Separation is what I am become. Not loneliness or aloneness. There are other creatures and company, but the realization of myself comes up sharper and sharper between us all and I realize that they are far away from me and getting farther. I keep feeling it at the worst of times…when I am taking down information for donations and when I am patting the dogs and any time I touch anyone.
There is a film between us all, or maybe just between myself and everyone else. It’s like being a bubble. Nothing can touch me and at any moment I might be swept up by the sun-darkening knowledge that we can never be anything but separate, and so be blown off to God-knows-where.
You have to hold me down. I need people holding me down so I don’t blow away. Until anyone steps forward, all I have is this glass in which I see myself reflected darkly and cannot look myself in the eye unless the face in the glass looks at the same time.
I think we keep missing each other.
The revelations that could be made in such a look might be too crushing for me. I don’t want to see myself, and that is probably why I never look very hard. But the part of me that would have it’s will wants to look and see what we can see.
That is why Kitty pleads and pleads with me and says, no no no, please don’t. don’t. if you just wouldn’t, you could have your soul back. please just stop it. don’t do this thing.
And I see her point—I do. But Wolf knows she doesn’t have much to bargain with. She isn’t our soul and she doesn’t have it, either. It’s getting ridiculous when a part of me is saying that another part of me acts like it has no soul and if we would only do what this part says, then we can get it back…
It’s all part of that thing cats do. They puff up and their eyes go wide and they lie.
But I haven’t looked. Not really. As much as Wolf has longed for an opportunity to see himself, he is superstitious about it. Looking into another wolf’s eyes would be a challenge, and how does one challenge one’s self and win? We aren’t quite there yet.
For the glass to become clear would mean that I would die, or that the world would be unmade.
…in the midst of all this, however, there was an instant where I felt awe and nothing else.
On my way to volunteer, I was looking absently out the window and we passed a park and this tree snagged my eyes with long, gnarled branches and heavy leaves, and all I could think was, the World Tree…that’s what it would look like.
I want so badly to go back to that tree and just walk around and around it and look at it. I could look and never stop looking. That would put an end to my attempts to see myself, looking at the tree. I know it was an oak instead of an ash, but…my concept of the World Tree has always been fierce looking.