Daphne, Descending

Descending from your flight to madness, still shaky from the breathlessness of the tempest, you step down and plant your feet firmly on palpable ground. 

The air pauses in its billowing, the heart trembles, sighing, for a little while, still hopeful, still wondering: where things are found and held--could it have been where you were to have been found, and held, at last?

Is this where the hapless, aimless chase ends?

Somewhere,  a clearing.  Nearby, a promise. From the soul, a hunger, inchoate. The longing to stay. 

Oh, to stay. 

But the breeze turns, unannounced--a host of forebodings arrive, whirring with the wind, and the time for trembling, sighing, closes in, like all days do. To love so fiercely is to invite pain in; to love so madly is to lose yourself.

But it was so still in that last second, so still! How a moment--certain moments--can alter time so.

Still, the feet, reluctant, spring into a run. Gently, at first, then swiftly, as always. Only this time, questions weigh the mind, the heart down, willing the eyes to turn toward directions other than forward.

But that slice of brilliance, so lovely and luminous--

Run. Let the broken heart propel you forward, only forward, always forward. Step on those clocks, crush them with your pain. Summon your strength and keep your eyes where they should be--away, away. Light foot, you are good at this.

Run.

Daphne, defeated

Because I was afraid of the recognition my light had seen in yours, I ran, and ran. And as I ran, I threw shafts of darkness your way, conjuring erasure, willing the shadows to take over.

I did not know all this will come to be--I was so certain, my love, so certain. But the heart is wise in ways unknown to us.

I had consigned you to the shadows, but your light has shone through. Dazzled, I turned my turned back; dazzled, I stared. Dazzled, I allowed myself to be drawn in to you. Dazzled, I succumbed to your brilliance.

My nimble feet are nimble no more. The weak, blurred edges have given way to clarity. I now recognize what I have always known to be sacred, what I have felt to be more powerful than the strength I tried to break it with.

And now here I am, bathed in the glow of you. Breathless from running away, and scarred in the struggle, I recognize my defeat and lay my (erstwhile) hesitant heart before your feet.

And what now, my love? What now?

Always, Daphne.

It never ends.

So many days, oh so many days
seeing you so tangible and so close,
how do I pay, with what do I pay? 
-Pablo Neruda


How to assuage the bewildered heart, beating and constant, arbitrary in its evenness, questions aswirl in the rhythm. 


The eyes open to daylight, determined to drink in a stretch of the view out front. The mind lingers in the background, seeking what isn't there to be sought, grappling with its cerebrations, nursing unforgotten wounds, lingering where it should no longer be, insisting on remembered sunsets on forgotten places, wishing on dead stars, still flickering with waiting hopes. 


To take a step forward, or keep pressing on to the past minute, hour, year--


one finds the self in the middle of things.

Bends in my road

The next day, though you're here with me,
I can't help looking at the clock:
-Wislawa Szymborska, "Nothing Twice"


At times, I fancy my feet planting themselves on palpable ground. The air pauses in its billowing, the heart trembles, sighing, for a little while, hopeful, wondering: is this where the hapless, aimless chase ends, where things are found and held, where I am to be found, and held, at last?


Somewhere,  a clearing.  Nearby, a promise. From the soul, a hunger, inchoate. The longing to stay. 
Oh, to stay. 


And then, the breeze turns, unannounced, a host of forebodings descend, whirring with the wind, and the time for trembling, sighing, closes in, like all days do. 


But it was so still in that last second, so still!


Still, the feet, reluctant, spring into a run. Gently, at first, then swiftly, as always. Only this time, questions weigh the mind, the heart down, will the eyes to turn toward directions other than forward.

Town Hall Fun

And how predictable was it that I should go to our Town Hall as Daphne? My purple sheath dress, wide, brown belt, nude Anthologys (good as bare feet), and the garland of purple (the Daphne flower is purple, incidentally)

and white flowers on my hair certainly got lost in the grandiose costumes--people actually came dressed as Greek gods and goddesses, Red Riding Hood, the Mad Hatter, Green Lantern, Paris Hilton, Spiderman, mafia lords, gladiators, drag queens, etc.--but I couldn't think of a better role to fit into than Daphne. Well, it was really a choice between her and Holly Golightly, but my procrastination at buying a pair of black gloves and a tiara finally left me with no other option. Though a colleague had offered to do my hair in an Audrey Hepburn bun (giggle).

This month, everyone is agog with dancing, and, my love for the art and the penchant for movement and rhythm that I got from my folks come into play as I take on the role of choreographer for my team. We are dancing the hustle, to the music of "Kung-Fu Fighting". And some colleagues and I will be opening the show with a Pitbull song.

Whew. Haha.

I wonder what's coming up next.

Quiver

by Mookie Katigbak-Lacuesta

Speed of neither wind nor ripple,

neither hawk nor dove; she darted

quick across the woods through blister’s

roots, and hyacinths, the river’s blue

narcissus—

gleamed like a pair of scissors

clipping silk. And with what haste

did I proceed, imploring limb and bone

to make the light as we sped trackless

through the night, and I flagged behind.

Gave her the lead by small leagues,

and watched her quicken when the miles

between us vanished by degrees.

Now the light within me slows, quivers

somewhere into color. I know her

like a heft in the blood, like an arrow

that arrives with a sudden red notion.

And wherever you go, I am to follow.

To what distance and by what path
-"Silence Wager Stories"
Susan Howe

These sudden, stalling, momentary standstills make me wonder, sometimes, make me ask when all the running will finally stop.

Picking up

and she pauses, five breaths
long, but soon the clouds
draw over the now vanishing glow,

and she turns to resume
her flight.

Bend

Daphne, dazzled
by a slice of radiance,
finds herself

turning--

And then, there's Estella

"...life is made of ever so many partings welded together."

'So,' said Estella, 'I must be taken as I have been made. The success is not mine, the failure is not mine, but the two together make me.' 

"The unqualified truth is, that when I loved Estella with the love of a man, I loved her simply because I found her irresistible. Once for all; I knew to my sorrow, often and often, if not always, that I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be. Once for all; I loved her nonetheless because I knew it, and it had no more influence in restraining me, than if I had devoutly believed her to be human perfection."

"I never had one hour's happiness in her society, and yet my mind all round the four-and-twenty hours was harping on the happiness of having her with me unto death."

- Great Expectations, Charles Dickens

Stowaway Holly:

"I don't want to own anything until I know I've found the place where me and things belong together.  I'm not quite sure where that is just yet. "

"Never love a wild thing.... If you let yourself love a wild thing,  you'll end up looking at the sky."

So, it's Argentina for Ms. Golightly.
I'm definitely adding her to my list of favorite girls.

quotes are from Truman Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's

Daphne, in my time (part 3)

at its swiftest. The limbs fail

to persevere, though the mind
endures, still, the shadows

lengthen, two shadows--

soon, the night, the shadows,

touching, the plea, the wind,

the truth, one shadow, still,

the other, breaking, finally, the 

end.

Daphne as the Runaway Bride, and vice versa

After a "eureka!" moment a couple of days ago, which happened while I was watching "Runaway Bride" for the 17th time, I am finally allowing myself to verbalize the idea that I have been toying with, since:

That my obsession with the movie and the myth are intertwined, in more ways than one.

photo from this site

In the end, Maggie Carpenter finds true love, and Daphne turns into a tree, both of which could very well stand for deliverance. 

And as for me, well, let's see.

Daphne, in my time (part 2)

Next, the mind,
where the chase leads,
the mind--
where the chase is

Daphne, in my time (part 1)

Loss of breath, the first sign
of the permanence
that will become the end
of this story.

Daphne and Apollo (by Ross Cohen)

I could never compete with you Lightfoot, skipping across the moss and stone. I crashed through tangled woods, Ripping roots from the earth, Snapping branches, clearing a path by force. You were a speck in my eye, Just visible behind the vines; A mirage on an empty plain. I could never see you directly, I could never sleep where you had lain. I had grown accustomed to the dip And dive of your back cutting Through the clearing where, Panting and parched, we stopped For a fatal moment. You turned. The war Between flame and stream, Between you and me, Swelled to crisis: Your skin cracks and grays Like cooling embers; the ground surrenders To toe-roots; thighs stiffen and petrify; Bark works its way up To the bole-knot in your stomach. Shoulders and arms explode Into clouds of flickering green and gold. Soft shrapnel litters the ground. Sitting beneath the sole tree In the forest’s barren place, I sift through the leaves For the memory of your face.