Posted on Aug 18th, 2009
by
Siona
I love this question.
What's next? What's now?
I love this question because it can always be asked, because life does go on, because something is invariably waiting around the corner to surprise and delight and bemuse and astound us.
What's next? My reaction is generally the same. My heart shudders happily. Oh, just wait! Oh, you'll see! Oh, you can't imagine the world that's bursting into being in every moment!
Or perhaps you can. What's next?
This. And this. And thisandthisandthis.
Isn't it amazing?
I think so.
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Posted on Aug 11th, 2009
by
Siona
I expect to be surprised and amazed and bewildered and overjoyed. I expect to be moved to tears, and to be loved and hurt and devastated and delighted. I expect to be a part of it all, as much as possible, and I expect to play, and I expect to be blessed with so many wonderful companions through it all. There is so, so much to explore.
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Posted on Aug 10th, 2009
by
Siona
This is one of those questions where I'd rather show you, than tell, my answer.
I'd rather take you by the hand and lead you outside, away from your computer, away from any pressures, away from any troubling stories or news or worries or concerns, and into a more timeless world of seasons and cycles and peace.
I'd rather dance with you to somewhere still and quiet, deep into a sun-dappled forest, weaving through trees, where the only sounds are birdsong, and the rustling of branches and the rhythm of our footsteps.
I'd rather discover with you a lake, still and blue and calm, with a warm and smooth expanse of rock leading out into it.
I'd rather we both make our way out on this natural bridge, to lie on our bellies with our hands trailing into the water, and I'd rather point to your reflection, to you—and not just any you, but you when you feel the most relaxed and trusting and happy and comfortable, and you when you feel most loved.
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Posted on Jul 2nd, 2009
by
Siona
You.
I'd like to get to know you, the creature sitting on the other side of the screen reading these words that were drummed out in haste by some obviously-earlier version of me.
I'd like to know what you're thinking now, and where you'll be going after your online respite is over, and what you're looking forward to. I'd like to know what you're concerned about and what regrets you've suffered in your life. I'd like to know what you need most, and what you want, and what it is you're here to give. I'd like to know where you're sitting as you read this, and what's scattered around you, and I'd like to know what connects you--what shared thread there is--with all the other 'yous' of this entry, past and present and future.
And yes, I suppose it doesn't matter; I'm not sure any human being can fully know another. Still, we can try, and still I suppose there's some delight to be had in this, that the quest for understanding can never be totally complete.
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Posted on Jun 30th, 2009
by
Siona
This is hard for me to admit, but I so rarely feel safe. I used to think I did, and then tasted, once, and fleetingly, what it was really like to feel utterly secure and at home and relaxed.
I remember nearly crying at how foreign the sensation was, how alien and strange, and at how foolish I’d been to blithely preach my imagined belief in the basic trustworthiness of the world. I realized my regular state is more akin to a child, just given to hold the most delicately ethereal bubble, worried that a forceful breath or unskilled jolt would burst it. This is what the world feels like to me–so beautiful, and so transient, and so gently and briefly entrusted to us, or rather to our briefly-lived experiences. And even though the lack of safety I feel is not some deep insecurity, even though it’s more a breathless anticipatory tension about a certain inevitable loss, it’s still hard.
There are moments, though. I feel safe when I’m held; I have an almost troublesome need for physical human contact, and an equally troublesome inability to relax into embrace. I feel safe when I’m writing; I have an inescapable need to put into words the beauty I see around me, and a parallel worry about my attempts to share being rejected or just misunderstood. I feel safe when I’m present, but this, sometimes, is the hardest thing in this world to be.
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Posted on Jun 16th, 2009
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Siona
Do I? This was, I'm realizing, a presumptuous question. I'm not sure I find meaning; sometimes I feel more as though I create it, and some days, I feel, I'm better at doing this than others.
And this, I'm realizing, is a presumptuous answer. Create meaning! It's true, though--I weave it from the warp of the world and the woof of experience using the shuttle of language and words, just as you do, and just as human beings have always done.
Of course, though, my own little patch of fabric is worthless on its own. What I love is sometimes stepping back to see how it fits in the tapestry of the whole. Where do I find meaning...
... here, I suppose.
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