You and I

Now it is you and I.

You and I, or interactions with myself.

I have travelled long in the sad aloneness of my old cold shadow.

You coax me gently, and sometimes fiercely, into the warm dazzle of your radiant presence.

I shield my eyes from your brightness, blinking myself back into the safety of my swirl-dark separation.

You throw up your hands in delight, beaming your light at my frightened gestures and miserable posturings.

I wriggle and squirm in the turmoil of my mind's murky imaginings.

You cuff my ear, wrestle me, throw me to the ground, tickling me loose from my gross graspings.

I gasp and grasp in desperation, and in my drowning at the floating hem of your wondrous robe.

You plunge me again and yet again into the turbulent waters of my self-designed findings.

I resurface and resurrect the compulsive patterns of my ages past.

You apply deftly your surgeon's knife, cutting away the dross and debris of my dead and deadening desires.

I complain and squeal at you, failing to feel the healing power of your hand at work.

You smile at my absurdities, chuckle at my crazy inconsistencies.

I storm in anger, fight facts, feel intolerance, let gross greed consume me, allow want and desire to persuade and direct my doing.

You wait and wait, understanding and forgiving, with infinite patience for the moment of my waking.

I sleep on and on, impatient for the dream to run its mad course, impatient for the treasure of our meeting.

You open wide your arms and beckon.

I hang back, hang my head, shuffle my feet and wonder why, when longing as I do for your sweet embrace, I linger still in the compromise of a dream.

You are silent and in the silence speak.

I put my fingers in my ears, turn my head in ignorance, fill my head with the clatter of clamoring voices and cry, I cannot hear.