Together

We are reunited and together in a way, although we could never be together in a conventional way. Every time our eyes meet we both want to laugh. We share a wonderful secret. That everything is imperfect and perfect at the same time, including all the pain and grief, it's all wrapped in there, but it's such a tiny, so very infinitesimally small a part, it gives a kind of bitter-sweet essence to the whole. We can't touch, whether because of his peculiarities or mine or the combination of them, but we move towards each other in a kind of dance, our hands almost touch. We smile, never far from laughing out loud at the wonder and absurdity of it all. I don't know exactly what issues he has and I'm curious but it doesn't matter. There is this understanding between us that it doesn't need to be explained. There is mess, clutter, bags and piles of random things around us, whole things, broken things. We look at them, enjoy their variety, pick some up, put some back, move on. Nothing can spoil the marvellous fact of existing and experiencing. We laugh the way babies laugh until the tears come, until we're breathless, at the sheer wonder of a colour or a cat or a hand moving. I don't know if we can stay together, maybe we can't, but it's so much fun I want to keep enjoying it. That feeling when our eyes meet of all being well, forever and just as things are, well. Without excluding our sickness and weakness and incapacity, in our own bodies, deep in ourselves, and those things are inevitable and somehow mysteriously right. They allow things that would otherwise not be possible. Our being together is partial and limited but still overwhelmingly wonderful. We exchange brief glances, as if playing the game of peek-a-boo, connect and disconnect, go and come back, playing at the edge of sadness just for a moment so that we can re-discover the connection and laugh again. He and I, both flawed and damaged and both still totally as we should be. Together in a way no observer could possibly understand.

Summer of love

Bob Marley's 'One Love' was playing, the sun was shining, it was a beautiful day. A group of people had gathered in the street, on random pieces of furniture and close by where I was sitting the Beatles were lounging, strumming and singing, apparently writing a song. George suggested a few lines of lyrics, something about consciousness. There was an overwhelming sense of well-being, relaxed, happy times. 

Too much

The thing I most clearly recall is saying, "I can't do this anymore, it's too much." I was in a house I've dreamed of several times, a big, old, ramshackle place full of dust and discarded items. Even if it was cleared out I know the fabric of the building is rotten beyond repair.

Two cars

There are two cars, one with two women in it and another with a man in it. There has been some disagreement and I have to choose who's side I am on. I move towards the car with the women in, at which point the man starts up his car. I turn around and call out for him to wait but he drives away. As I turn back I see the women also start up and drive away.  Neither would accept anything other than complete allegiance with their side. I realise that I am going to have to walk a very long way and resent that, I feel that both sides have been unreasonable.