My Sin

I walked the streets looking for some sort of absolution, looking for a priest that would give that to me.
All that kept coming to mind was...her.
I hate her. No, I love her.
I never want to see her again. I cannot wait to see her again.
I need her. I hate the need I feel for her.
I want her. I want to be alone.
God help me, I need to confess my sins.
God help me, I want to sin again.

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The Hound and the Hare

I have pinched myself until I am black and blue.
Be the events of the past few hours and days but a dream of some monumental nightmarish proportions I should have waked by now.
And still I recall the events too clearly, in too much detail, as if I had lived through them. I feel like the hunted hare trying to outrun the hellish hound set upon his tracks who skittles into the hollowed log and comes out the other end, dazed, confused, darting about in frenzied flight, running anywhere just to get away.
I did that....married the woman, apparently, although my Scotch-soaked brain did not recall it, and then took to my frenzied flight, only to be cajoled back by her henchman, into some ghoulish occurrence so out of sync with reality that I should doubt my sanity yet again.
But even if a product of my mind, in one way or another, insanity or dream, I cannot deny the reality of what happened next, nor my feelings for her. She brought a fire to my loins too easily, so eager was I to embrace it, that all else was lost.
I was lost.
And woke tangled up with her in her bed to find our reportedly forgotten vows of marriage quite thoroughly and completely acted upon, by the both of us.
Round one to the hell-hound, hare on the ropes and bleeding badly.
I responded just like the animal who has but two choices for survival, fight or flight.                Fight I had tried already, with dire results, and no escape. Tis how I ended up in such a mess. Flight, then. I made some hasty excuse for leaving, having some business to attend to, of course, isn't that always the way of it, and escaped to the prison of my own making, my London townhouse.
But I could not get her out of my mind.
I need help. The guiding hand of an unseen power and I know hardly where to begin....save to return to the altar of my God. Yet it is too far, I must seek Him in another refuge now. I shall walk the streets until I find a sanctuary here in London, bend my knee to the Father, and confess my sins. Too long has it been since I was shriven and purged of such.
I know not what else to do.

We Collide

We collide.
Fire and ice.
Day and night.
Right and wrong. Right or wrong.
I do not know.
I only know this thing between us scares me.
Not for me. For me I have no care.
For her.
But something scares me more.
Being without her.


The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you

I'm open, you're closed
Where I follow, you'll go
I worry I won't see your face
Light up again

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills my mind
I somehow find
You and I collide

I'm quiet you know
You make a first impression
I've found I'm scared to know I'm always on your mind

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
I somehow find
You and I collide

Don't stop here
I lost my place
I'm close behind

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills your mind
You finally find
You and I collide

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When All Else Falls Away

I stood in the center of the fire with her. I stood in the center of her fire. Is that one and the same? I think perhaps it is. I have done them both, and survived. I have sat with pain, and survived. I have watched everything else fall away, save for Truth, and still....still....I am here. And now.....now I have claimed her, and no matter what, now I will protect her, with my life, my words, my deeds. She is mine. She is my Truth. And I will be true to that honor. Forevermore. ......A. Sabatier It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive. It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon... I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful to be realistic to remember the limitations of being human. It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence. I want to know if you can live with failure yours and mine and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon,“Yes.” It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back. It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments. "The Invitation" by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

Cheers to An Old Friend

Gavin Savere has surfaced.
I thought his purpose had been served and that he was gone. Not so, apparently.

Captain Savere was a most unsavory character, to be a man of honor's alter-ego, which is what I must assume he was, being born of some inner desire my consciousness had no knowledge of. He was tough, yet not uncaring; lawless, yet not without mercy; a thief, yet not without honor. Gavin was an enigma, then, and some personality strong enough to carry....well, both of us...which was the purpose of his creation, I suppose. It is not unusual that I should empathize with him, even yearn again for the ruthless abandonment with which he lived his life. But I have always been a man of encumbered responsibilities, not that I swayed from them, not at all. Sooner or later Gavin had to surrender to that, even as I had to acknowledge it again.

Timing was my fatal flaw. Too late to save my wife, too late to save the children. That I had saved them before was no excuse, it being my destiny to do so repetitively, until I got it right, I would guess.

Is that to be Gavin's legacy, then? A return so that I get it right, a second chance where none is warranted or deserved, a reprieve from damnation, a precarious balance upon the edge, not knowing which way to fall? The falling is of course inevitable, I am but a man.

I think too much. That is Sabatier.

What is Savere in this situation? I think I know too well how to answer that. The amnesia faded long ago and left me with two halves, inside the one, and I know them both. Savere would take to his berth, to his bottle, drink himself near to oblivion, or even past it, and therefore save himself the embarrassment of further action.

I think to try it his way, for once. It can hardly do a harm and who knows but what an unexpected answer may lie within the good Captain's presence that he be willing to share. The Anna-Maria will be my cushion, should I fall, and none shall be the wiser for my demise, done in solitude. So shall pass my night and my disappointment with it, perhaps even my anger, although that may be asking too much of the unscrupulous Captain.

Day will break me soon enough. She always does.

Mine to Possess

I settled into the house in London......a stylish three-story brick Spanish colonial on Park Lane near the corner of Chapel Street directly across the street from Hyde Park and just down the street from Grosvenor House, the townhouse of the Duke of Westminister.......

 

.....yet it was not home.

I went out searching for something that would give it warmth, something that would comfort me in the long stretches of time when I reside there alone.
The walls were so bare and I thought perhaps something upon them...something to bring them back to life....would be the answer.
I chanced upon a shop a short walk from the townhouse, ducking inside to procure shelter from the weather, and found there a treasure trove of paintings that were unlike any I had ever seen before.
I was captivated by the style of the artist, and shuffling through the offerings, I chanced to hear a commotion in the next room, which I discovered, upon inspection, to be the artist herself.
Her selection of color, the adherance of paint to the canvas, depending upon where she had chosen to place it, were unlike any I had other seen, and then I saw the masterpiece.
She was actually painting my sanctuary, and the time I spent there in asking for guidance for the rest of my life, and I was at first suprised, then offended. She had intruded upon my life, my space, into a place that was solitarily sacred to me.
I had to have the painting.
But no matter what I offered, she would not accept.
She refused to part with it.
I felt the anger rising, my blood boiling, how dare she! She had seen something of my life that was sacred, secret, something she was not given permission to see. Not from me.
That she could have refused to give me what was rightfully mine....I was livid with the thought of it.
This is mine to possess.
No one will deny it to me.
This is my battle to win and I shall prevail.

Arrival in London

Aboard the Anna-Maria
SHIP'S LOG
Day Ten

I pointed the bow of the Anna-Maria into the headwaters of the English Channel yesterday. With the wind in her sails, I should make the mouth of the Thames by nightfall, able to coast into her river's waters and navigate the remainder of the journey by the simple light of the night.

My staff should have already arrived at the townhouse, making it inhabitable after its many years of desertion, and my man Robert will have already secured a berth for the Anna-Maria at the London docks. I am sure the Master of the Harbour has by now received my letter and payment for such, by Robert's hand, and he should be anticipating my arrival.

I cannot decide which to be the better truth, my eagerness to know what London holds for me, or my loathing to leave the peace I have found upon the sea again.
Perhaps the two can marry.
Perhaps I will take into consideration the notion of more time to be spent in the exploration of England's coasts, since the Anna-Maria will be with me, and I can make good use of her services. There is some business I must attend to, as Benjamen wants to profiteer the winery at Pantera, and I have promised to make inquires as to English merchants that might purchase his excellent spirits. Also I must make my presence known to the Queen and extend the greetings and good tidings from His Majesty, King Alfonso, as a recognized courier of the Spanish court. I shall enlist Robert's aid in the diction of letters to procure such meetings as one of the first orders of business to which I attend.

But that is not to say I cannot proceed at whatever pace I so choose. It is not as if I have to eek out a livlihood, but I should like to have some type of activity fo fill my days. I dare say nights as well, but that would be asking for too much. Besides, I am capable of sitting with my ghosts now, in the dark hours, and holding onto my sanity.

Most assuredly....I can do that now.

It is the first day of July, 1888.
The first day of my life and the course it will take in London.
And I can do this now.

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This Is My Time

Aboard the Anna-Maria
SHIP'S LOG
Day Six


I never want this to end.
I dropped anchor at dusk last night and this morning awoke to witness the most glorious sunrise. I feel like I am reborn anew, even as this day is.
I swam to a small island that I could see from the deck of the Anna-Maria so that I might walk along the pristine sand there. I am in no hurry. This is, after all, my life.
And this is the first day of the rest of it.
I am on uncharted shores here, this I know, but I am not afraid. Even my disturbing dream has abated, moved to the back recesses of my mind, and I worry no more of its meaning.
It will surface when it is time and I will be ready and able to deal with it when it does. Or it will not come again.
Either way, I am at peace with it.
As I am at peace here.
Calm. Serene. Sane.
I have never felt so sane.
This is the time....this is my time....and I am ready for it.

 

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Bliss

Aboard the Anna-Maria
SHIP'S LOG
Day Four

BLISS

I am in love with her, I think.

The sea, I mean, of course. Today has been yet another glorious day with her, just she and I. I have not even bothered with the encumberance of dress, preferring instead to let the sun be my clothing. I shall offend no one, for there is no one to offend, save the dolphins that have decided to be my company.

I sighted them this morn when I climbed the rigging and stood near to the top, they were but a little way off my port side bow, running interference underneath the water's surface. For what, I could not say, but they stayed most of the morn right in place. Such sleek and graceful animals, I shook out the canvas and filled the sails, letting the Anna-Maria speed along to see if they would stay at her lead. They did, and I suspect thoroughly enjoyed the game, tossing their gleaming bodies up out of the water with ease, even at such a speed, then plunging back to the sea, dodging each other's bodies with lightning-like reflexes. What a gift, to be able to watch them as they moved in perfect harmony, one with the other, and even with the Anna-Maria, as they accepted her, and therefore me as well, as part of their world, without condition.

How simple it all seems at this moment.
How carefree, how blissful.
Even the haunting of my sleep seems but far removed and far, far less irritating, in the light of such a wondrous day.
I shall not dread the night, then, for empowered with such a day as I have had, I can deal with anything that comes to me in dreams.
I am strong now. She brings that to me. My joy, the sea.
And I am grateful to her.

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The Sound of Absolute Silence

Aboard the Anna-Maria
SHIP'S LOG
Day Two

 

I am in my element once again. 

Why it did not occur to me to seek her out sooner, I do not know, but I am here now. 

The sea.

 

This morning I woke to the sound of absolute silence, liberated from the sounds of any other human being, and it was glorious.  Not that I will not miss my family and friends I have left in Spain, for I shall and I know how much I shall.  Their love buoyancied me when I was drowning in grief, these past few months.  I can never repay them for their support, their honesty, their devotion to me which never wavered, no matter what my state of mind or being. 

 

But there is something restoring to my soul to be alone, on the sea, and in her absolute silence. 

 

Even the dream that I continue to have, for I have decided that it must be a dream, I must have succumbed to the stress of kneeling in prayer all day and all night and given in to sleep, to have seen such a vision at my sanctuary's altar....even that dream has loosed its hold o'er me somewhat here.  I still have it, the identity of the woman still haunts me, as she comes to me each night, and walks around in my sleep without revealing her true identity.  I first thought it was Pene alone, for I know the voice I heard, and hear, can only belong to my wife.  I will always know her sound.   But the face I glimpsed in that fleeting moment before she melted into the daybreak was unknown to me, its features unclear and foreign. I am a religious man, but not a spiritual one, and I am not a man used to blindly accepting a thing.  I hunted extensively through the periodicals and books of my library, but nothing there held definitive answers for what I thought I was experiencing.  It was Pene's voice who called me "ashke", but why would she tell me to go to London, the exact words......"London.  Seek the treasure in London."....save she be a ghost or a dream?  There is no scientific proof that ghosts exist and the individual elements of dreams when dissected are nonsensical.  Science acknowledges that. 

The value of dreams lies in their message, not in their messengers.

 

That is how I have decided that I can sit with this.  One night in my dream I will know her, she will show me her face.  I must have patience.  I think it is but a test to see how patient I can be and I will rise to the challenge.  I have but little choice, this is in someone's hands other than my own.

 

The sea is being so sweet to me today, the waves gentle and soothing, her hue so crystalline blue that I believe I can see beneath her surface into her very depths.  She is a rare gem that sparkles just for me, just for the touch of my hand as I trail it in her waters.  She comes alive as I touch her.  She and I are companions to one another on this day without need for any spoken words.  She gives to me her strength and I take it, hungrily, as a starving man who is at last being fed the only thing he craves....the silence of understanding.

 

There was a time when I dreaded another day but no more. 

I look forward to another day, if it be like this one.

 

Voy con Dios.

 

 

A New Chapter

SHIP'S LOG
The schooner Anna-Maria, Port o' call - Benvenuto
Upon the Atlantic Ocean, north from the coast of Spain, long. 47.4, lat. 16.1
June, 1888
Bound for London, England
Day One

I feel as if I am beginning a new chapter in my life. 

I feel as if I have triumphed over the darkness that had gathered and threatened to destroy what time I had left, but the strange thing is....I do not feel as if I have done it alone....exactly. 

Not that I can say who...or what...has been with me, but there is a presence, if only my overwrough imagination, that I now follow.  Hardly do I care where it might lead, the point being that it has me on the move again, believing that there is something yet in life I am to accomplish, and given me a mild curiousity, that I admit is growing, as to what that might be.  Indeed, I find myself hopeful now as I look around the corner, excited to be expecting something more to do. 

The surprise has been that I am not to do it in Spain.