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I travel on this journey that is happening to me over infinite distances and with no real time references at all. Watches, hourglasses, sundials all melted. But if we are still here, we are bewildered with that. Not comfortable. Makes us nervous. So to supply some numbers, the calendar's story was that it is a week before Valentine's Day, a weekend of course, where lots of things happen... this one was Friday night and Saturday morning.

One of the few Friday evenings here that the sunset was piercing through the constant and solid greys. We went out walking together to the seacoast and down onto the shore. As I've written here before, she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. But where I feel her most is inside my heart. All the time.

And she peeked from the clouds:

Tides had receded and lovers had passed by, they had written with sticks, plunging them up and down into in the wet sand, plowing up small mounds. So we wrote something too.


The sun did not come out the next morning, so there were different gifts. Strong winds were racing about to clutch at us and form and reform the water into spume and tendrils of energy. On the way to the beach we saw cleared brush left to rot, but it really transformed into verdant new mossy life. Very much like we had seen on our walks at Evergreen.

And I pointed out the fencetop barbed-wire to her, keeping us off the bike path and the beach, and she simply giggled. What had she cared for fences then? What does she care for fences now?

And we passed by a frozen freshwater pool, broken stalks and blue ice, reflecting the shadows and the promises of the next morning. How can ice reflect shadows and promises? {Well, you gotta come see :)} Lots of activity down beneath this, deep in the warm sand, these will all be growing up again soon...

Sea waves were pounding in, driven before the stiff cold wind. All traces of KIOTA '11 had been floated out into the ocean and into the sky. Underwater and above the sky. Completely silly, of course: the sand had not really gone away anywhere. Nor had the writing... just moved into new forms.

Seagulls were crying and wheeling, and this one curled over us to wave:

...before she said goodbye {for now}

And it was a new morning, as they all are or should be, and home is everywhere at the same time, so that's where we went. For tea.


Eyes search, they dart
Greedily drink in the sights
Gather the colors, the shapes
And reveal a little of their keeper.
Some say
The eyes are windows
To the soul --
Showing little, showing much...

A word is said swiftly,
Disappearing into the wind.
But not forgotten, never forgotten
Forever, a word lives...

When your world is swathed in shadow,
Ask the night how light to bring.
And when your world seems to have gone mad
Ask the mad dreamer for advice.

You will see.


These words come from her poem "To See", written many years ago "when I was eleven or twelve" and also a couple of weeks ago, plus a few days. Plus. The title of my entry comes from its lines too.

Seeing where, with whom, and how?.... Life is all about seeing. Things other than life are all about seeing too. All of this was, and is, a celebration of life. Creating poems and photographs is a celebration of life, of many lives. Her lives, mine, yours. Forever, a word lives. Images, too. Forevers that you can feel even when you cannot see or hear.

May we all be blessed with mad dreamers to ask for advice.

Anytime. And all times. 'Altijd' as they say here. Sounds like the tide too.


( 9 comments — Leave a comment )
(Deleted comment)
Mar. 5th, 2009 12:41 pm (UTC)
Yeah... it's a challenge, isn't it. To try to look with wider eyes than we usually do. And wider hearts.
Feb. 26th, 2009 10:51 am (UTC)
I miss her so much.
Mar. 5th, 2009 12:37 pm (UTC)
Even though we spent most of only four days and nights together physically, by now I've long since gotten over my amazement.

My amazement of how time and distances do not matter.

In my life, and in so many important ways, she never left at all. Just changed. And left her torments, and her suffering, for good.

Which I think is a blessing. Many of them. Each new day.
Feb. 26th, 2009 07:28 pm (UTC)
I wish she could still be here, physically, and be happy. Sigh.
Mar. 5th, 2009 12:51 pm (UTC)
When she wrote her LJ from Holland it was full of being here physically and being happy and eager about the future. However, despair and SI were also pretty dramatic pieces of her life and words then too. Clinging to friends, injuring friends.

There's only one of us who could ever fit all these pieces together into a single mosaic.

And she has.

What lasts for me is the light she left us to cherish.
Feb. 27th, 2009 03:45 am (UTC)
This was really lovely.
Mar. 5th, 2009 12:28 pm (UTC)
Thanks... this all was a lovely experience, too, one I needed to share with you all. It's early March now, the same times last year when we first started webcamming and IM-ing each other, and it's beautiful to see the excitement and the dreams we were planning and working on then... truly celebrations of life. Eager ones.

Who is remembered, lives. As long as memories do. Even longer, too.
Mar. 8th, 2009 05:30 pm (UTC)
You are a healer. I didn't feel sad while reading this, just peace.
Mar. 9th, 2009 01:04 pm (UTC)
Thank you, Mia... hope you can remember how you responded to her when she grieved about Sibyl: your words were healing then and they are now. And how tangible it all is in your Faery paperweight...
( 9 comments — Leave a comment )


kiota too late for the stars
Moonfire Marion Bridge / Brad

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