The Flight of the Rocketman

"A work of art is an accumulation of details." -- Eric Bentley

"Remember, it is the property of being illogical that makes miracles what they are..." -- Kaily Chua

And in one simple twist of fate, things have begun to look up. Not completely. But in tiny little bits, in tiny little moments, certain phone calls and certain texts, in a sudden rush of activity and then a slow moving; things have become better.

I've thrown away old pictures of my past. Remnants, tangible things that need not exist except in my head and those that were present. I took my old journal, the one I have yet to write in again since July 10, 2003 and read testimonies, my testimonies of becoming stronger; my record of good times and bad times. I close it. I think about writing on a journal again but I feel I should start on a new, empty book. To write on the old one when there is still so many pages left that need to be filled, it seems wrong. It is a different hand that guides the strokes of the pen.

But I am not one to waste trees. There is still a lot of pages to go. All it takes is a little effort, a lot of ink and remembrance.

'I live my life twice when I write..." -- Sylvia Plath

There is no destination that has been foreseen. We all arrive at any one spot and wonder how we got here. We long for different shores; arrivals filled with joy and happiness. We believe it is what we deserve. And we do. But we never get there. We wander around this foreign land that we call "the moment" and look at our maps and realise we have strayed from the road.

"The road has strayed from us!" -- Into the Woods, book by James Lapine

We long for the things we strive for and wander at the things that we end up with. It is not all bad. 12 silver coins made in 1940, 3 glass jars that is 10 years from being antique (if only I can wait that long), a collection of CDs, books and DVDs, pictures waiting to be replaced, thrown away, given up, and a lifetime of love and hate, sadness and anger, laughter and joy. No, we wander why we still long for things when we have so much already. No matter who you are, you have so much.

in longing you close your eyes,
but in wonder you open them.
-- Longing and Wonder, Myra Shapiro

This is elation, the elusive bliss in yet a different form. Now, I think that I am not trying to find it just to be able to feel it rushing through me, but I am here to record it, define it, categorizes in the many guises it wears. Today, I'm drunk with it. Famine and feast. 6 years. Such a long time 6 years. And now, it has come, rushing, flooding my body with it and it is overflowing from my ears, my mouth, my pores. I don't know how to be. All of a sudden, I feel no hate, no contempt.

Is it this easy to forgive? I never thought it would be without forgetting. This is all illusion. For if I were not feeling this, it wouldn't be so easy to just forgive. I read my journal and remembered the many betrayals and abandonment that has transpired. The anger is gone. I read without fury, without resentment.

Is this the goal? Is this the destination? What is it truly that I want? Reality? But the illusion tastes so sweet. And it doesn't last forever. So why not revel in it when it comes?

But it is truth, for this is how I really feel at this particular moment, at this particular time. This is magickal. How can you say there is no such thing as magic? It is here. This transformation. Anger transmuted into love. Resentment, frustration, anguish shifting into calm.

"Only 9% of everything we say is understood for what they mean..." -- Roddy Lumsden

Really? It sounds truthful but I have to ask, "isn't it because 91% of the time, we only hear what we want to?" This is the magic that remains among all people: the ability to change the quality of truth into that which we need it to be at the moment. We are such powerful beings!