Saturday, November 6, 2010

Letter to Esmeralda

by snowlion

Esmeralda,

Tears have watered this oak. These tears brought me to smell England’s rains with a saturation that was so deep it redirected a systemic past of compromise .

But before England I thought was doomed, my embryonic being steeped in phallic false logic, the mechanics of ghost’s motion taking ground, of body language having made me predisposed to someones else's paradigm. Yet I didn’t have a endowment of heritage and education of substance. Being able to dance to the waves of the waltz was just like looking at the stars. Esmeralda I had lots of passion, and no rudder. Yet I have found a way to take control and slow down the minute hand. I took control the of waltz’s metronome and took control of my own steps, of my own fate. I learned how to turn stars into fate.

Light’s heritage, her endowment of rhythm, her cadence to be able to dance to the waves of the waltz, she and I are very much alike. At first, she had not yet arrived as a sister. I am sure you remember about all of this passion Esmeralda, but I was mimicking light’s moves, I was making her a fatalistic idol. At first, I just followed for the sake of the security of her shadow. But now, I have found a way to slow down the minute hand, the waltz’s metronome, and learn light’s lessons and how the relate to me instead of making her story my story.

The air of gender, I wake up to her, I sleep to him, my lover and ever presence taking back time for my victory. Many just dance; no, not dance. They move more like drones to an out of tune brittle oak piano. It is gender, Esmeralda, that has helped me to find and love myself. Some only see it as my hunchback of Notre Dame making foreign shadows with an echoing tone resonant both of a man and a woman and neither at the same time.

The kinship of light and gender is something I have always heard of in terms of should and shouldn't. Time has taken on a more honest path now, less grids without corrosive sewers , less shoulds and shouldn'ts, now more streams that keep the water moving and pure. Thinking about who I am , and who I want seems to be more tangible in these terms Esmeralda , the streams of identity have left me more on an open adventure instead of traffic hour, stuck in the predetermined gender roles, with too many red lights.

Esmeralda I know you have taught me better. How does the wind feel on your skin- on the other side of the bridge ? I wonder if I could visit you some time but alas I have my own mountains to climb. I honestly don't know what is on the other side. It really doesn't matter, just the fact that I have done a feat of this measure will remind me of my potential , of my strength.

Could you please smell the coniferous for me ? For sake of splendor of their verdant life through when light shows the self less.

Waiting for moon to pass
One must not get caught in the undertow.

--snowlion

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