The Water’s Edge

The Storms have spent their fury- the thunderstorm is over- Job has been censured before the face of humankind- the Lord and Job have come to an understanding… Job is blessed and has received everything¬†double. -This is called a repetition.

Kierkegaard. Repetition.

Dear Paul,

I am sitting here, weightless, as if on the outer edge of water from a spill. My body slows me down, it has thinned, I float in shallow water. Unlike the deep, I have freedom in disguise. Have you read Job, lately? We said we would. Have you read him as Kierkegaard suggests: with the eyes of the heart? Have you dropped everything?

I am not coming to you, no, I cannot come this week. It is not the roads, the brown mud, the bath in dirty weather that is keeping me. I am not Epaphroditus, I have not come close to dying. But my lips cannot even say it, it is there, though, it has chapped my lips. Still, I cannot say it. Just know I am not coming.

You are my confidant, my Juliet, my Romeo, a portion of me. But I must keep you, keep you away. I cannot even talk to you, your words are like butter, your words are more than life. And right now, I cannot bear words, I cannot let them in infinitely. My body is rejecting them, antibodies are coagulating, there is something like lashings bearing for me an eternal weight. Words aside.

By tonight I will have tied a string to two door knobs. That way, from either side, no one may enter my castle. But my castle is made of sand, so please, do not tell anyone this. Surely, if you said a word, a hundred faithful ones would come blowing down my house. Tonight is for the stars, tonight is for the stars to shine.

I sometimes wonder, Paul, if you know what it’s like to receive a gift. To take the bow and slowly loose it, to take the wrapping and slowly unfold it. For you, it seems, everything unwraps itself. As if every flower was wound up the same, so that at some time every flower draped its pedals- trying to escape each other. Is this why all your gifts point, motion, drip afflictions? It is a sign you opened a gift?

I will write soon, but I cannot make promises. The days seem to be getting shorter, I know you know what I mean.

~Your youngest one


About Rene Diebenkorn

Lifetime Artist. ETC.

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