Mine alone

I live on Vancouver Island, in Victoria, BC, alone. I have a silver laced bicycle, a cool looking lamp, and a number of insignificant materialistic items. It's my home now, and I cannot go back to my roots, I cannot put myself in that situation again.

Art, it's everywhere; something I cannot avoid. I hang the pieces throughout my small apartment. Three are grand in size and from an Artist in Victoria, three - the same applies, and the rest a just from random strolls and wanderings. Sometimes, I think it's the only think that keeps me sane when I sit at home relaxing.

It's unusual to come home at night; briefly and subconsciously searching for a place to lose everything on me, including clothes and such, and even my mind at times. Turning on one dim light, and sinking into restfulness after a weekend out. My mind sometimes races, I have troubles just sitting down and being. It's something I cannot muster the strength to master. The blood - my upbringing more importantly - ensured that idle hands accomplish nothing. It's not that I have issues relaxing, it's that Newfoundlander's always have to be doing something! Ask around, because it's every Newfie I ever met, and then some.

The people I meet are interesting. I enjoying going out on my own, being the lone ranger, and just encountering the people around me. There is so much uniqueness, many people who can offer so many different viewpoints and lives experienced. Sometimes, I get jealous, thinking 'why can't I settle into some sort of permanent group of friends?' - some people are just destined to do things differently, I'm guessing.

It feels like there have been safer days. I don't fall, and when I do, it's an epic event. I have fallen before, and am glad I don't think I will be falling anytime soon. The trick is to be weary, careful, and watch and do only when you're sure...only when you know they can't touch you in some meaningful way that changes everything you are. The everything I am, is completed right now, but it's not ready to invite someone in to turn my life upside down. Why do I always sink into this relentless pattern of thought? Is it telling me something? Is this the right path?

Every day is a god, each day is a god, and holiness holds forth in time. I worship each god, I praise each day splintered down, splintered down and wrapped in time like a husk, a husk of many colors spreading, at dawn fast over the mountains split.

I wake in a god. I wake in arms holding my quilt, holding me as best they can inside my quilt.

Someone is kissing me - already. I wake, I cry "Oh," I rise from the pillow. Why should I open my eyes?

I open my eyes. The god lifts from the water. His head fills the bay. He is Puget Sound, the Pacific; his breasts rises from pastures; his fingers are firs; islands slide wet down his shoulders. Islands slip blue from his shoulders and
glide over the water, the empty lighted water like a stage.

Today's god rises, his long eyes flecked in clouds. He flings his
arms, spreading colors; he arches, cupping sky in his belly; he vaults, vaulting and spread, holding all and spread on me like skin.

- Annie Dillard