A Billion Drops of Water
Passing through cities in various countries, I scatter myself, living multiple lives, entertaining different versions of myself. With a healthy detachment, I allow and accept each life that I live. Not, as I learned does not serve me, with an obsession, by which all the eggs in the basket break at once, and the city sours, and the friends I had feel like phantoms, and the only light ahead is from the torch of a night train I don’t have a ticket for, and I must leap onto it as it is rushing by, throwing my bones to the wind for the sake of landing elsewhere. I have learned better.
Somewhere, away, there is always is another sea of phantoms, but they cannot cause me anxiety because I do not yet know them as friend or foe, and so their unknown shapes are fitting and acceptable.
To build a life somewhere and have it fall apart can feel like the greatest tragedy.
But if I can love myself unconditionally, knowing that at the deepest level of consciousness, I am all I will ever have (even in relation to others), then it should not bother me to begin again. Those fresh phantoms can be trusted, must be trusted, because without hope, there is no life at all.
From city to city, I find myself expressed in separate pieces, pieces which I can only sometimes give names to, but mostly they are flashes, like the truth in dreams, drifting out of comprehension when the first thoughts of the day replace them.
These pieces of self cannot commit to a subject or object or knowledge of self, and instead, by their very existence, are more akin to a billion drops of water; they can only take shape as independent entities brought together by a serendipitous fusing. Wrapped up in a net of indescribable energia that is entirely of the moment, buzzing at a point of focus that is not created, affected, or controlled by human effort. But it wraps up these moments of clarity all the same.














