i began as nothing: blank, a void, an emptiness. lacking shape, i could not yearn for one. lacking emotion, i could not pine; lacking thought, i could not ponder. all was still and silent, an eternity of ennui.
& then: a maker's eyes saw the self-within-the-naught. the buried line and form. the unblushed colors. the resonance, the unbeating heart, the stilled movements, the silent music. the mirror-maker. a maker decided to raise these elements to my surface, but this decision was not solely a maker's. it was our collaboration.
o, to be given form! how to express the feeling of first feeling? the sight, the taste, the first colors? the knitting of bone and the blossoming of the blood? the sensuous rapture of the feathers of the brush, the raking rasp; the stroke of the god-tongue! & with each, a maker became ever more mine. i saw, with my new eyes, each glass of wine, each bitter tear, every wracking sob. & i saw the return of my maker to me, each day, inevitable as the push and pull of the tides, heard with my new ears. determined. our essences, having fused, denied us the possibility of cessation.
the dawn of every day: my maker poured life and experience, hope and heartache into me. a dwindling and a growing. to bloom and wither as one. vicariously, i came to know love, to yearn for the stars. to envy youth, to feel regret. to know the twisting knife of betrayal, the confusion and bitterness and sorrow of loss. faith and fear -- blood speaks to blood.
one day of these every days, my maker gazed into me, and i into my maker. we knew we had finished.
"made," said maker, "i have given you myself: my quiet evenings, my thoughts and dreams, my wishes, hopes and fears. my life is your life; your life is eternal." my maker lifted me, gentle as a babe, and placed me opposite a large window overlooking the ocean, over which we had toiled for so long. i had heard, but never seen. my heart soared. o, the sea! there is music there, beauty beyond anything! the shimmering sunbeam, the glinting waves, the leaping fish & scuttling crab, the ceaseless eddies! the sun and moon, the very tidal breath of the earth itself... the mirror of heaven!
my maker made me, and in doing so bestowed a gift beyond measure. yet i in turn made something of my maker. more intangible, perhaps, but no less profound. this i know from my maker's final, tearful glance before leaving. my maker, mine.
how much time has passed since that day, i cannot know. my view of the glorious sea has widened as my maker's tower has crumbled. no one has seen me since my maker's departure, and somehow, this seems as it should be. we made each other. it is only fitting that we wait to view each other again. blood spoke to blood: we are one or we are none.
someday, i think, my maker may return. & i will laugh! i will feel joy! & i will say, look! look at the beauty of the sea, the shining light you showed to me!
and until that day, i am ungazed, yet forever gazing, in a tower by the sea.
& then: a maker's eyes saw the self-within-the-naught. the buried line and form. the unblushed colors. the resonance, the unbeating heart, the stilled movements, the silent music. the mirror-maker. a maker decided to raise these elements to my surface, but this decision was not solely a maker's. it was our collaboration.
o, to be given form! how to express the feeling of first feeling? the sight, the taste, the first colors? the knitting of bone and the blossoming of the blood? the sensuous rapture of the feathers of the brush, the raking rasp; the stroke of the god-tongue! & with each, a maker became ever more mine. i saw, with my new eyes, each glass of wine, each bitter tear, every wracking sob. & i saw the return of my maker to me, each day, inevitable as the push and pull of the tides, heard with my new ears. determined. our essences, having fused, denied us the possibility of cessation.
the dawn of every day: my maker poured life and experience, hope and heartache into me. a dwindling and a growing. to bloom and wither as one. vicariously, i came to know love, to yearn for the stars. to envy youth, to feel regret. to know the twisting knife of betrayal, the confusion and bitterness and sorrow of loss. faith and fear -- blood speaks to blood.
one day of these every days, my maker gazed into me, and i into my maker. we knew we had finished.
"made," said maker, "i have given you myself: my quiet evenings, my thoughts and dreams, my wishes, hopes and fears. my life is your life; your life is eternal." my maker lifted me, gentle as a babe, and placed me opposite a large window overlooking the ocean, over which we had toiled for so long. i had heard, but never seen. my heart soared. o, the sea! there is music there, beauty beyond anything! the shimmering sunbeam, the glinting waves, the leaping fish & scuttling crab, the ceaseless eddies! the sun and moon, the very tidal breath of the earth itself... the mirror of heaven!
my maker made me, and in doing so bestowed a gift beyond measure. yet i in turn made something of my maker. more intangible, perhaps, but no less profound. this i know from my maker's final, tearful glance before leaving. my maker, mine.
how much time has passed since that day, i cannot know. my view of the glorious sea has widened as my maker's tower has crumbled. no one has seen me since my maker's departure, and somehow, this seems as it should be. we made each other. it is only fitting that we wait to view each other again. blood spoke to blood: we are one or we are none.
someday, i think, my maker may return. & i will laugh! i will feel joy! & i will say, look! look at the beauty of the sea, the shining light you showed to me!
and until that day, i am ungazed, yet forever gazing, in a tower by the sea.
