Faceless in a New City

Now the disorientation sets in – where am I? – who am I? – I ask, waking suddenly in the middle of the night, in a bed that has not yet entirely begun to feel like my own. Ha, you don’t know it yet, you don’t know who I am – that I am loved by some incredibly powerful  people, that I am special to some very special people. Oh, now I miss them – ever so slightly. Oh, but so slightly. It sets in – a tiny ache, a small jolt now and then that echoes – where am I? Who am I?

You don’t yet know the kind of life I have left behind, the kind of people I come from. I come from good people – I come from a marvelous place. Not just in space, but in time – not just a place, founded firmly in the ocean, but a specific moment in all the vast moments that stretch before us. It was glorious – it is glorious. For yes, it lives, it breathes, even in my absence, even when I am not looking. Even when you are not looking.

The life spills out of it, dripping to the floor, its magnificence almost too bright to behold – it is all quite pretty, full of light. These are people who love the act of living, who are not cowering in doubt, it is a place that flows abundantly, always flawed, always teetering on the edge.

I could sing about the swish of silk and the scent of jasmine, the beauty of  the overflowing garbage or how moving it is to find street-children feeding skinny stray dogs, I could recall warmly how motorists drive utterly unlawfully or tell you lovingly about that flourishing mosquito bite on my ankle. But – forget that stuff.  No, what I’m talking about – this here is the real deal. It’s the good shit.

There is nothing – nowhere, no time- quite like it anywhere, anytime else.

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