you asked me

To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don’t grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float.” – Alan Watts

desnudeme, desdudeme...

you asked me if you create doubts in me and I said you did, at times and that you sometimes still do. you asked me what I do with them and I said nothing, they're there and then they're not anymore. you asked me to tell you when I have them, not to keep them to myself and I said I will, but I probably won't. I asked you if I create doubts in you and you said no. I was drowsy, that cold medicine was sending me on my way, my eyelids falling heavy on my eyes and I was thankful to the dimness of my bedroom brothel light for not sending spears at my eyeballs. I was flickering in and out, in wonderfully hazy daze, you were embracing me, moving me, no, the feeling was more like maneuvering, smiles and whispers and the odd sharp d's and i's and z's floating around us and it felt like we were lying on the wavy surface of a river of words. I was enjoying it so much, enjoying you, enjoying you enjoying me.

our serious talks are play and we are children speaking the truth. Truth is such a serious word, so formal and imposing, so harsh and unforgiving, so ultimate. so misunderstood. it doesn't need, like most words, an article to qualify it; saying truth is the same as saying the truth. how arrogant we've allowed it to become. we can't even find a word we can all call it, no matter what language we use. how can we then pretend to find a meaning that is universally understood? we call as we see it, or rather, as we are taught to see it.  it doesn't belong here, where everything is fluid, where there are no things to take and change shape, where there are no boundaries, where whatever is created creates recreates. in our minds. so let's say that while playing, we're speaking what is, what was but not what will be.

you said I was ambiguous and I said yes, it can't be anything but. words are not our own, they're a legacy, a code arbitrarily constructed, which can't be traced, not in the ways that matter. you can trace it to the origin, but then it stops. how about the origin? what made the originals associate that particular sound with that particular thing they were seeing or showing,  that thing that existed outside or inside their minds? and what made the others accept the sound, creating understanding? words are borrowed. the only originals nowadays are children and that doesn't last very long. their originality is trumped by numbers and they forget their own words for the sake of conventions in order to relate and express, for the validation of being understood, though there's really no way to be sure that happened. sometimes though, you see the spark in the eye of another, they use the same word that's forming in your head, they head in the same direction without instruction, they look without being called. And you know then. That's when you don't need words or when you can find five, no! ten words to describe something that ordinarily you'd barely find one for. 

I didn't realise i wasn't using the right words, that neither were you, that you make me doubt and i don't make you doubt are both illusory and false and can become dangerous, that we were both saying the same thing in a different way, that we both trust ourselves to the water, and that it is the same water, though it may appear murkier to me and crystal clear to you at the same time. Water doesn't change, it fills and flows or stays, it covers rocks and weeds and holes, water isn't deep or shallow, blue or black, calm or rough. it is the structures that it flows in or through or which hold it, the forces that move it or the things in it that are different and that shape our experience of it.

someone asked me about you, what you were like. i said you're happy. they smirked discounting both my answer, my nativity, perhaps, in classing values and you. i smiled and felt no need to defend either, with no resentment towards the lack of understanding and it wasn't because i didn't care about that person, it wasn't disengagement, but something that liberates, a certainty that I understood myself and you. happiness, even as a word is so simple,  so genuine and so uplifting; when you say it your mouth opens wider, it stretches into an (un)intended smile, you can see the word, imagine what it looks like, it has a specific shape or color or colors in your mind, it's not just another word. it makes you feel better. why would you give deference to any bleak and somber abstraction over it when it comes to describing someone? is it because we find ourselves mostly using it when we are children, or when we talk to children, and so, we outgrow it or cast it aside?

i read a book and loved it. it was yet another dystopian novel where Unanimity was the ruling societal force and where there was an opposing but less powerful rebellion force, called Union. one element born in Unanimity ascends and becomes an agent of Union, striving to overthrow the forced natural order. she gets caught out and leaves a testimony for the archives and this is where i get disappointed. she is asked for her version of the truth and she says: there is only one truth; versions are mistruths. How utterly unanimous of her!



I love it when you ask me!