Starry, Starry Night

Day after day is a struggle of the heart, the mind and the soul to somehow find a way to live together in harmony and beauty within the temple of of my body. I find the ability to juggle what the world requires and what my spirit seeks and what my heart desires a battle which is never won, never lost and never ending.

I can never seem to live without the past and the future, though neither exist. They are only ghosts in the mirrored halls of my mind. They flit here and there, haunting with regret or promising happiness, and while I listen and watch the ghosts I forget that they exist not at all; there is only this very moment, second, some tiny unnamed particle of existence smaller yet. What a marvel is an intellect, that shrouds my pain or paints brightly glowing pictures of nothing. How do I leave the dreaming and the hope and the cherished remembrances to live in the now. When and where is now?

I live to find Beauty. The beautiful is all I seek - for it is all I know. Beauty takes so many forms; the feeling of silk upon your skin or the breathlessness of an orgasm in your lovers arms or the light of faith in God. It is the collection of objects which make a well loved room, the paint upon a canvas and the notes of a melody winding in and out of your eardrum and into your soul. The kiss of a friend. The sharp crisp breath you draw in winter and see as mist upon the air is beauty, a single leaf: the tiny feline carcass still warm with the fleeting spirit of my dearest friend is beauty, too. I grasp Beauty tightly for it flys like an arrow shot from the bow and when it strike your heart it wounds with such amazement and joy, pain and sorrow.

The last moment I saw my friend she knew that I had finally seen her through the darkened glass as she hastened to be in from the winters chill, and in this great haste to greet me, to run to the beauty she saw in me, silly child, she slipped. She slipped. She looked with such surprise as she slipped, such surprise that anything could take us from each other... She had utter faith in me, how carelessly she loved!

How careless I was with her beauty.

The fragility of all which is beautiful is why we seek it, I know. Perceiving a crystal glass will shatter or a fire shall consume a forest or that our loved ones may be taken without a breath full drawn; beauty is beautiful for it is fleeting. Remember me, it cries, remember me! I will still be here as long as you want me, as long as you hold me, in your memory; just remember me!

Remember me. So cry my ghosts.