I found this today in a drawer of old papers in the way, something I wrote nearly 20 years ago. I had a strange feeling while reading my own
handwriting from so long ago, this oddly-constructed and somewhat abstract piece. At first it seemed perhaps too personal for sharing until I realized
that it is now only personal to a shadow, a person that once was.
Visions of the Fall
It is important that I have this vision.
I see myself in the fall. I am slender as I was in my youth. The trees are changing color. The wind howls at night, the rain is cold when it comes.
I am again excited to be alive. I am wistful and yearning. My heart is open. I am strong. I laugh in joy, I am human again.
I travel like a shadow; my thoughts are a mystery. I am a puzzle.
I am in love with a woman who I have not yet met. She is strong; not necessarily stern in demeanor, but strong in heart and mind. She brings out the
best in me, a best that has been dormant for years, but that I know I am still capable of. She sees my best and I see hers. There is no pretense
between us. Our love is not perfect, but there is no pretense between us. There is not always understanding and unity of emotion, but there is Truth
If you film us in the fall, and you take away the sound, you can still see the language we are speaking, frame by frame. That is the way True Love
should be... not all the time, but certainly during many frozen moments where clarity comes in a flash: this is love.
It is important to me that I have this vision. This vision of the fall embodies the hope I have. I need to believe that however thin this hope
wears, there is always a thread dangling from heaven, a ray of sunshine breaking through dark clouds.
I see she and I on our first date. I am not suave. I do not pretend to be suave. She is not chic. She does not pretend to be chic. We laugh
together. Her vitality sends shivers down my spine. Her smile makes me melt. Her smell is intoxicating. I am in the palm of her hand already, we
are both reluctant to dive headlong into love... but the damage is already done. There is no turning back... we know but do not say.
If this dream were real...
It is important that I have this vision. I will hold it and I will not let it go.
The fall happens too fast... but my visions are in slow motion. Every moment, every movement has intention and definition. I will see my life in the
fall with no sound, in slow motion as it ought to be, sometimes in black and white, sometimes in earth-tone color. I will have it no other way.
I will celebrate the fall. I never celebrate anything, but now I will celebrate the fall with these visions. I will enjoy life and love. I will
pour out what I have to give.
Celebrate the silent slow motion of the fall.
Betrayal, late at night, haunts the man in question. I will use knives as need be to open myself to my fears. In the fall I rise above my self-haunt
to a world of not-afraid, eating fears.
The fall, and what she wears. She wears faded jeans and a long fall coat, or maybe a long sweatshirt. We take walks together... I hold her hand and
electricity flows between us. The autumn air is crisp and her hands get cold, but I warm them in rotation. I dream of this day, I long for this day
like a fool, but I will not stop yearning. My heart is empty as I stand, and only the visions of the fall can fill it.
If this dream were real, she and I are the luckiest people alive. I die there. I die there with her in human joy. This is the feeling I long for,
the love I once had for another that died, that still wells up within me, ready to pour out into the one true soul in the fall.
Visions of the past are dark and looming. Accidents and damage, visions turned to nightmares, regrets, anxieties, dementia. Love perished so
violently within me. Death, one foot in the grave, wading hip deep in blood from wounds that only one could heal. Like the senseless violence of a
war, the thrashing occurred over a number of years, breaking parts that should never be broken, tearing from inside like unceasing detonation of
shrapnel grenades. Pain of mind like war. Pain of mind like war.
The slow motion slipped away... scenes that should have happened in silent slow motion were blended in fury, like six heads twisting on six demons in
six rages. The silence turned into machine-gun fire and backwards demon voices laughing. The cuts were deep when the visions of the fall slipped
One lived and one died. That is the way it always must be when the visions begin in error.
I began my visions of the fall in vain, a defeat that was already written in the stars.
God damn that should never happen to anyone.
Get out you visions of the past.
The vision of the fall is that they cannot break me. Wrongs occur and damaging conditions ensue, but they cannot break me. People in real-time say
and do things that break others in real-time. I will live in the silent slow-motion of the fall, and I will not be broken.
The vision of the fall cannot be taken away by anyone except God. It cannot be granted by anyone except God.
When the ever-strong mind of the fall is filled with slow-motion visions, moving forward at an even keel with no fear, the wind through the trees
brings new air from distant universes. I breathe this air, and I see clearly how the past is riddled with sorrows of loss. Glimpses of life divine
passed me in blind times. It may be that my windows have all passed, but the thread from the sky, the faith-strand of life from God, tells me that I
still may find a vision with Truth.
Were it not so that I did not breathe the air, my sorrows would be less. Get out you visions of the past.
Darkness. The vision lies dormant and forsaken and the faith-thread grows thinner. Why? There is beauty in supplication when God listens. When He
turns from a man, there is only sorrow and despair. So the vision lies defeated for no reason other than His will. It is by the will of God that I
suffer. God is just, therefore I am unjustified. I am the dead.
Were it not for the thin thread of faith, I would seek and find my grave. I have not cried my last, nor have I abandoned that which He has forsaken,
but the damage has reached a threshold that few could withstand. Still I am.
I am he that never forgets.