David, the longing is right. If we weren’t talking about life, I’d add the word ‘always’. The longing is always right. But what does life have to do with the word ‘always’? Always is forever, it’s a commitment that the ever changing force of life can’t hold. However, my longing for you is always golden, just so you know. It always has been, but I didn’t see it that way. It was hidden under layers of purple. It’s hard to believe how a thread (longing is a stretched out thread, I am sure of it, and if you wish I will tell you how I’ve discovered it, but not now, because right now I’m running out of breath), can hold such a load of purple layers without tearing, without loosening and slowly peeling itself off of the purple and revealing itself in its golden nakedness. Such magnificent beauty this thread holds – kingdom, glory and grace all in one. I close my eyes now, focusing on it. Breathe in breathe out, I twiddle the thread between my fingers, separating it to its fibers, and in a technique unfamiliar to me, in a sleight of hand I weave a crown.
Who knows how things happen around here. One moment I’m standing in front of the canvas, and in the next moment I disappear, becoming a tool in something else’s hands. That something, that voice which sends me to this or that color, to the brush, to the spatula or to the naked hand – that voice saturates the yearning with which I came to this world. That yearning is to me like one of my limbs, and only since I’ve devoted myself to its inner whisper, do I know true saturation.
Silence. Do you remember that I spoke with you about it? About the presence that sometimes flows from you? About how I’ve learned to recognize it, because it, too, has a magnetizing incantation, and how I come to rest inside it… And the way your eyes sometimes brighten when you rest inside yourself, when you abandon your guard post for a moment or two.
Layers and layers of purple. Dark and shining majestically it revealed itself between us, and stood firm in spite of our distrust, despite our suspicion, and piles of misunderstandings and wounding silences, and enraged eyes, and decisions like “that’s it. This time it’s for good.” Despite us ignoring each other until we can no longer take all that weight, and in a moment of distraction, dozing off in our Guard posts, the purple stretches between us and presents itself, and our eyes cross, and all that sadness pours out of them and it has no words.
You know what, I think the laughter stripped away the thread, the laughter that burst out of me uncontrolled, one blast after another, whether because of something you said or for no reason. At first it was hard for you to take it, but eventually I could see darts of light in your eyes, like droplets of laughter. And I thought that you were the only person in this entire strange world who could laugh only with your eyes, and later you would smile and sometimes you would even laugh. A lot. And now it’s becoming bright and crystal clear that the more we laughed, the more layers of purple got peeled, to expose the glare of the golden nakedness of the thread.
“Just as he suddenly appeared in your life, so will he disappear. A moment before that… it won’t be possible…”. That’s what the witch had said, and she was right. “Life is always right. There’s no point in arguing with it, save your energy”, she said time and again in each of my visits.
And then one day it happened. Just as you appeared, you disappeared.
Only the thread, seen and woven between us countless lifetimes, has remained. Glowing in its golden nakedness, once in a while it stretches inside me in times of sadness. A longing.