Sunday, August 11, 2013


Quiet at night: this is the way, the truth and the life, and while my soul craves the quiet, this is not exactly what I had in mind.

Another move this weekend — the fourth shuttling of material items in two years. It is a small place, shared with no one else, and as I hauled boxes up to the third floor I thought two things: this is probably good exercise, and I hope I won't be doing this again anytime soon.

Combing through boxes I found memories of my past lives, but I didn't linger long. Not because the memories were bad — they were quite lovely, in fact — but because I can't keep my head in the past.

But it's quiet in this new world, quiet in an unsettling way. I still have the most vivid dreams — I have accepted this as a permanent part of the rest of my life — but when I wake up I find it impossible to give voice to these mind movies. Talking out loud about them would diminish them. Besides, they're all I have left of Calliope. I am selfish on this subject. One day when I am older I may be able to put all of it on paper. Perhaps. But that will have to wait. I have more goals to attain, more life to live. And more dreams to dream.

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