And I live

This sluggish and dry body which has been called by my name is slowly creeping back into life, nursed by rivers of water and a small stream of tea and whisky. I’m once again beginning to inhabit this place not surrounded by the fog of sleep or the need of sleep. The sun has some how roused this life within me and coupled with my new found knowledge of my emotional self I feel content coming to life again in this place. My new home where trees walk, clowns cook with me in the kitchen, and although I spend hours each day trying to explain what I’ve said I feel like I’m perfectly understood. With bruised arms from wrestling with brothers who have been born to mothers thousands of miles from mine, I dance the night away – all of us dressed in togas as we simultaneously mourn the leaving of a friend and celebrate his time with us in this unusual place. Each of us dances abandoning pretence and allowing our souls to mingle together as life swells inside each of our bodies and begins to leak out of our pores. Mosca and mucca flit about in this thin mountain air and quietly mix with the late night laughter expelled with a hint of alcohol on all of our breaths. And with all these bodies the cold night air is suddenly warmed by the love that each of us is filled with for whoever happens to be seated next to you. I can’t wait to share this new existence with the loves of my previous life, show them that my wandering may have been selfish but it is not in vain, let them meet my kindred souls from the world over and smile to myself as I know they try to make sense of my desire to live with the whole world in one house guarded by a gentle French woman, a consistently angry Italian man, and giants who kindly hold us all in the palms of their cracked and rocky hands. Show them the maps I’ve drawn of the life I used to live, let them see that even the darkest night here is filled with the incredibly light of the worlds I pray are even better than the one I now am privileged to live in.