Singing out loud in the car along with Ray LaMontagne, Mazzy Star, 3-11 porter, Neil Finn, Florence + The Machine and Bat for Lashes…
hope sings, love stings; the things they do to each other in the name of wishes and wants and needs never known or long forgotten. They claimed an impossible otherness that never was and never will be. The earth swallowed. A feather fluttered from heaven.
She loved her. They loved each other. They loved, loved, loved and loved. They got kicked out of restaurants and movie theatres and line-ups for being too close, too giddy with each other, too affectionate and cuddly and they didn’t much care because there were other places to go. For seven years they loved, loved, loved and loved. And then in year eight, She began to change: become more of herself. And her Love couldn’t bear it. Or maybe Love’s pride could not bear it. Or maybe Love’s fear. Or Love’s need to destroy herself. Green eyes got greener.
Whatever it was that Love couldn’t bear delivered a betrayal, a wrenching end. She went away, left the country, went away and found another life and after a time, other loves. But not like love, love, love and love.
She was visiting from away; Love happened to be in the city too, and they came here for tea. Did my ears twitch at waves between them? Were there echoes?
Love says it’s time to leave as she slides off the stool, patting the dogs and closing the front door behind her.
“It was nice to see her,” She said, her eyes undecipherable as she headed for bed.
Were there echoes?
This was my dream, at least the part that I remember: someone I couldn’t see in my dream was showing me how we are born with, part of, accessing, knowing, touching all the love in the world. All of it. At that moment in the dream, the realization that each of us is full of love and each of us has the chance to open up to share all the love in the world exploded in my brain with colours impossible to replicate and feelings that don’t have words.
The feeling followed me for days. I couldn’t say what I knew, and yet there was that aching sense of the other knowing: some of us spend the rest of our life whittling all that love away until there’s nothing left.
It’s autumn. Full of colour. Days of sunshine. Deep breaths. Music. And, all the love in the world.
Happy Thanksgiving, Canadian style.