This was a dream.
Wasn't it? The woman was weaving her snowflaked hair, starring it
into a white blanket, iced milk of the sky. She sat by the river, a
river frozen in time, towering above her in a suspended curve. She
sang quietly, soft songs for the waiting flood, with a voice that
could crack the stasis and release the water. She sensed its silent
beat in her chest and felt herself opening, less restricted, her
heart able to be red and wild next to this cool blue. What did it
mean?
An ice pop,
languorously unfreezing in the mouth.
Heat closes like a fist
around the ice.
An imagined kiss.
Drink of moonlight, and
eyes of gold, of lapis and offerings to Isis, sacred colours of love.
'Let us dance,' said
the the night as it fled with the stars hand in hand, and by dawn
they were undressed, their laughter lighting the sky.
But this is here and I
was there; there in my waking dreams I watched that woman and that
waiting river, that arch of ice – what memories did it keep? I saw
lovers and flowers, a pram, school books, parties, celebrations,
arguments, pain and sadness, slammed doors, loneliness, a face with
an expression of absence. And in that frozen waiting she felt more
alive, for she knew nothing would happen, nothing could happen, and
how glorious that was – to be relieved of hope.
A moment – like a
spring awakening, a spring tide, an aliveness, and this imagining so
fine, so deliciously delicate. Pure.
She was waiting by that
frozen river, comforted by inanimation. And I woke and took the
words, the shapes, the feelings. I inhabited both the river bank and
here, this world of other rivers, or isn't it the same river but in
different guises?
I have a list:
water
beauty
culture
artists
atmosphere
safety
love
happy people
dance
art
poets
A list is not a life.
But words are a start.
Perhaps they are
everything.
They are a wish.
And wishes are
powerful.
And I have a heart.
This is a life. Isn't
it? The woman is weaving her celestial hair, singing it into a blue
blanket, a sublime opera of the sky. She sits by the river, a river
stroking, softening alongside her in a lover's curve. She sings
joyfully, celebration songs for the life giving waters, with a voice
that resounds the openness and meets the river's. She speaks its
names in her chest and feels herself opening, with more love, her
heart able to be everything next to this blue. It is.
