l. Turning away from her was never easy. The heart calling for closeness; reason was supporting a more guarded position. Extending a hand of kindness could have been misconstrued as a pitch for more familiar territories – perhaps an artificial intimacy uncalled for. It was clear then that my lover’s journeys – in a manner of speaking – were taking her to higher pursuits; my best season was over. New headlines on the dailies, followed by the clarifications spinners had already prepared; boisterously – for some, all too familiar, borderline apocalyptic – injuries of egos, roughed-up skins.
Why bother I kept telling myself; I am after all a rather dull human being – nothing but a series of random thoughts, intel not worth sharing when the plaintiff had archives of evidence and a squad of inquisitors to pound me, successfully. There was nothing to pursuit then; this is not an actionable story, but rather epitaphs in the mail – I cannot continue, I heard a voice saying, trying to recycle these fraudulent bubbles – something my therapist had said to me earlier. I may be excused for being so dumb; have I looked in the mirror lately?
ll. Toiling for too long takes an incredible amount of energy; then what you see before you is a heap of wasted time; a sludge of scatological fertilizers nobody would dare come near – the character is rarely noteworthy – a cut-out of rare creatures collecting footage of expired balances and unshipped postcards. Could he become a source of sociological studies? Would his brief demarche deemed valuable enough to merit even a mention? It was at that point when the thought of running for public office crossed his mind – another of those self-indulging shortcuts, with the accompanying soundtrack, naturally.
The mirror was staring back that morning of a fortuitous encounter, yet, there was nothing musical about it, he was simply too scrupulous to voice such thought; many years of hoping for a new outcome had altered each turn; delusions always attractive – consciousness aloof, an inhabitant of troubled times.
lll. Place, time and geography had seemingly pre-determined the outcome this time; no way he would be reiterating the obvious – for whether his residence was on the ground or in the clouds there was nobody there to answer his calling. Personal choices; individual responsibility; teachings according to our essential values; echoes of a mystical life left untouched. How about the sixties? Surely there were learnings to carry you trough; and the seventies? Roots of resistance, fire, water and brainy companions – what you need is a good haircut brother, another voice whispered – that should do it; get you out of the morass and do some cursing – that’s right, swear from time to time – Fuck! See? Feel much better already.
lV. If I hear one more time “everything happens for a reason” I’ll scream. Of course, the orthodoxy of the unfolding conversations with his regular muse – not his personal trainer by the way – had many layers, some meditative, others contemplative, others, right down venal – but, what he really loved about her was her brain, really. And; their conversations. Exuding an almost perpetual state of empathy, no matter how challenging and uphill the battle or circumstances; looking at her portray, he knew there was a core worthiness just being there, no matter his mental, emotional, physical or even financial state.
For her luminosity was the light he needed to be guided through unchartered waters; this was not a love affair, but rather a political romance novel, with an unknown ending. He concluded that everything was mysteriously interwoven; there was not rationality to explain it, but the “signs” were all there. And, if success was to be had in the long run, he had to start believing, again.
© Leo Campos Aldunez
Edmonton, AB (Canada)
Theme: How Can You Mend A Broken Heart
© 1972 Al Green / https://youtu.be/UgAFcvIw8J4
Leo Campos Aldunez / Poetry 