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The shape of things to come: marriage
Oct. 22nd, 2010 11:02 amI couldn't sleep last night. Something about an itchy kid in my bed and a restless worried brain combined for clock-watching.
Except I'm smart and don't have a clock in my room.
Memories and thoughts are becoming increasingly tied to a physical sensation, an idea of mass, an envisioned shape and form. It's weird, but I'm trying to work with it. Anything that helps me remember more and think more clearly is OKAY by me. But it's strange to be arrested in mid-stride by a very faint scent in your office building lobby that feels entirely out of place, and brings echos of a past that cause me to start groping around in my labyrinthine brain for a match. The Soviet Union. 1985. A museum? It smells like the USSR. I stand in two realities, present and past, and I am bewildered.
So it was last night. Probing a thought with a physical presence full of unvoiced words, emotions; defined boundaries for an unshaped content and my mind groped and fitted words and sensations against the edges, matching feelings to the contours of a realization on the brink of revelation...
this relationship, this union I have chosen to make, is a wonder to me. I could see the two of us, connected by a bridge called Marriage. Separate yet together, with a means to cross the chasm when harmony is discord, with infinite places to go along a single continuum when exploration and personal quests call. Always knowing the way back, even when the way forward stretches with infinite, unknown possibility. I know that even when things are at their toughest for the two of us, as things will inevitably become from time to time... when perhaps the two individuals we are become entirely at odds with one another, I won't be afraid. I'll lean on the bridge and trust it to lead me back to the place I want to be most, at his side, back to back when we must rally our defenses and face to face when we need to replenish our hearts, hand in hand to share in life's joys--even the most mundane--and in each others' arms in happiness and grief.
I lay on my back in the dark and explored this bridge, its strength, its resilience, its brilliant engineering. We've been building it for such a long time, and we've done our work well.
Except I'm smart and don't have a clock in my room.
Memories and thoughts are becoming increasingly tied to a physical sensation, an idea of mass, an envisioned shape and form. It's weird, but I'm trying to work with it. Anything that helps me remember more and think more clearly is OKAY by me. But it's strange to be arrested in mid-stride by a very faint scent in your office building lobby that feels entirely out of place, and brings echos of a past that cause me to start groping around in my labyrinthine brain for a match. The Soviet Union. 1985. A museum? It smells like the USSR. I stand in two realities, present and past, and I am bewildered.
So it was last night. Probing a thought with a physical presence full of unvoiced words, emotions; defined boundaries for an unshaped content and my mind groped and fitted words and sensations against the edges, matching feelings to the contours of a realization on the brink of revelation...
this relationship, this union I have chosen to make, is a wonder to me. I could see the two of us, connected by a bridge called Marriage. Separate yet together, with a means to cross the chasm when harmony is discord, with infinite places to go along a single continuum when exploration and personal quests call. Always knowing the way back, even when the way forward stretches with infinite, unknown possibility. I know that even when things are at their toughest for the two of us, as things will inevitably become from time to time... when perhaps the two individuals we are become entirely at odds with one another, I won't be afraid. I'll lean on the bridge and trust it to lead me back to the place I want to be most, at his side, back to back when we must rally our defenses and face to face when we need to replenish our hearts, hand in hand to share in life's joys--even the most mundane--and in each others' arms in happiness and grief.
I lay on my back in the dark and explored this bridge, its strength, its resilience, its brilliant engineering. We've been building it for such a long time, and we've done our work well.