A telegraph from Elysium

As he is in my memory, Handsome Redred
Two of our horses were in the dream, the Arabians, both of whom perished last year. So, too, the miscreant aptly named Pyewacket— a fierce disagreeable little cat whose provenance is known only inasmuch as she is the progeny of one of the feral cats that took up residence in the barn a few years ago.

I was trying to connect with the horses at turns. But my Night shade was finding them, not the real me— a defensive version, relating to Pye; always the trickster version,

It spooked and scared the horses, the gentle kind— So they told me, in their way, I must find them as myself.

I whispered in my sleep “I don’t know how.”

And Red somehow telegraphed the message to me through what technology he found in that place, it told me

When the stars are going out—
And you’re looking for a face before you leave—
Make it mine.”

And I tried like hell to escape the deep molasses of sleep, to find him; to remember— To shake it all off and just recall that one moment, of him.

Him, merged with my childhood; Magic; the Elysian Fields, the Farm— the Infinite; revisiting me. And I did, sort of— but he was talking about when the Stars Go Out. So I’ll meet him when I die.

I have to wait. (I’ll always look for his face.)
Animals are the closest I get to religion.

.   .   .

Later on,  I painted that little sketch of him. Here’s the one I did when he passed:


And here’s one of Red and Comet, our red and black Arabian gentlemen:



Day-to-day or ordinary magic that has no good and fitting name

PART THE SECONDBrugge building: "Diligence"Fuck. I started on this while abroad; in a flow. Have since resumed ‘normal’ life. How to restart this?

Okay. I’ll start with a moment after my return. Alyssa and I were catching up one night, and Zac came up (naturally– we totally miss that kid). I was trying to describe him in as few words possible, and out came:

He’s a rapier wit with a Southern accent.
He’s a pocket Truman Capote!

We laughed and laughed because it’s true, and somehow accurate. But why ‘pocket’?* (He’s taller than TC was, eg.) We put it down to the fact he’s available. Alive, if you please. Told Zac, and he laughed and said “I’ll take it!”

That’s a bit of magic. Mundane, day-to-day moments where we laugh, feel some joy— share it and it reverberates. Increased joy. As they say, a candle loses nothing in lighting another candle. Knowing people well; knowing limits, perversions of humor. We routinely call each another ‘old bats’ and worse. It’s pure affection. The best.

+  +  +

My recent trip held a lot of little magic, even down to a well-timed (though I didn’t know it at the time) flat tire on my rental bike. Explored, got lost, got un-lost. Connected with friends I’d not seen in too long.

It was instructional, too, as traveling tends to be. (Why have I waited so long to travel abroad alone? I’ve done it routinely in the States, Canada.) Mind-opening and delightful. It puts you to tests, which are necessary and good. Challenges. But it also rewards if you are diligent.

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