Afterall ...

Afterall …

I just wanted to tell you I love you … that I have always loved you and that I probably will always love you. I know we have only been in this new place for a short time (how long has it been?) and yet I feel I must write this letter to let you know my true feelings for you …

I want to tell you I love you in slow motion … as we eat a meal together on a cloud of golden puffy pillows. I want to tell you again as we dance in the air for the first time … alone and yet surrounded by beautiful blue angels. I want to hold your hand tightly as we float together over forest and skyscrapers to watch the mere humans below us sleeping through their night. And I want to tell you over and over again as we dream together, in our quiet embrace of eternity…

I know we have never quite met and yet, in a way I am sure you could love me as much as I love you. Ours would be a delicious love, like wild honey licked clean from your fingers or warm liqueur in good coffee - made here and brought to earth for all to see and to share …

The first time I saw you it was that Sunday in the rain. It so seldom rains here. You were standing near the entrance doors as the families were leaving. You shook hands with a tall man … I know he did not mean a lot to you by the way you took his hand slowly, carefully in your own. You did not look in his eyes as you shook but at the ground and then he just walked away, not looking back, like an distant friend or brother or something … certainly not your lover or husband.

I noticed you do not wear a ring and that makes me really smile. I know some people take off their rings when they come but you do not strike me as that type. I just know you are not married.

Then I saw you again in our first group. You sat near the back beside that red haired man with the long face. You barely looked up as He spoke but I saw you peeking once in a while. We are all scared … that is nothing to be ashamed of. I am a little scared too. Afterall this is very different than what I am used too. This is, afterall, the afterall …

I saw you again at the Gates talking to the tall man about something. You looked really concerned that time. What were you talking about? I was going to approach you then and try, in my own shy way, to introduce myself. And yet I found that my wings would just not carry me in that direction … would just not take me to you … and that I why I am finally writing you this letter. This letter that I will probably never send because I am so scared that you might reject me or tell me there is someone else or laugh at me or something …

But wait! Are you getting up from your place near the stairs? Are you leaving the hall … Oh please … do not leave. I love to watch you sit and go through your books like you do … and now you are moving toward the entrance and I may not see you until when? Tomorrow? The next day? Time seems to flow here … on day into the next into the next and into the next. It is like there is no days and no nights … only time and then more time.

But wait … you are turning toward … toward … toward me! Ohhh … you are coming here … to my spot … to me! You are standing in front of me and speaking and the words, the sounds are coming from your beautiful mouth. I can barely hear you but I know you are saying the same things to me that I am saying to you. And you are smiling in the same way. And now you are reaching our your hands and your wings toward me … oh I just knew it!

I guess it is going to be great afterall isn’t it? Afterall and afterall …

Richard Hersley / Oct 27 / 2003  richard@richardhersley.com

Popping Out of the Matrix

Popping out of the Matrix –

It’s like all these things in life are designed to keep us down. We are born and usually get abused by our fathers or mothers right away which usually leaves us useless and defenseless for the rest of our lives yet we don’t know it yet. The main abuse usually stops before we start to really remember our lives – our parents calculate it that way – and they usually have some life awakening or change of life or some other bullshit, maybe medical and they stop hitting us or torturing us or whatever it was that they were doing to us to abuse us before we get old enough to know it happened. Then we have a couple of years of bliss, usually between eight and fourteen where all we do is go to school, eat chocolate and have crushes on our teachers. Then we start to change and the abuse from our childhood catches up subconsciously and we say, “This is a boring and middle class family” and our parents, if we have them, seem so “normal” and “unfulfilled” and we say “that shit is not for me”. We usually fight our way through grade school and into high school and then the big one hits us. One day we realize that no one thinks we are shit unless we are hip and popular so we start to spend every cent we get to be more hip and more popular and we barely make it through high school because we are so busy being hip that we do not have time to study. Of course being hip means we can’t live with Mom and Dad past seventeen. Then we move out of home and need a place to live so we get into the rent thing and start to dump a whole bunch more money on that and on buying shit for our rental pads – I mean shit that we really don’t want but that fills up our pad and makes it look like someone lives there. We get jobs and pay taxes right away – one third of all our money right away. And then we need a car to get to work and get around and mostly because you can’t really do anything the way our cities are set up without a car. So we spend a lot of our money on that car and then get into the insurance bullshit and the car fixing bullshit and the gas bullshit and the parking bullshit and, in short, dump a whole bunch more of our money on that. Then we start using that car to go back and forth to the job that we are starting to hate but that we now need to pay for all our shit and we say one day – “Hey, this is boring! There must be more to this. To life” – so what do we do? We start a family of course and we get a couple of kids going and we think we are happy for a while. Of course we aren’t ready to have kids – no one really is until they are about sixty so we get impatient and unhappy with them and slap them around a bit too much or torture them in some other way. Then our partner screws around or we screw around and then we realize that this shit is boring too. I mean, there we are, driving back and forth to a job that we now really hate in a car that is now getting really old and falling apart and we can’t stop doing it because we don’t know any other way. Is there any other way we say? “There must be a better way!”