Looking at the re-write of the Haiku book, adding to it pieces, which are semi-autobiographical – I began the writing by replacing the present prologue.
The time is short today with work coming soon and the mind numbing exhaustion that follows. So I place the 1st draft of the prologue chapter here. It is sounding like a mystery – all the events still mystify me. I am sure it will be meaningful to those willing to make the journey in it with me. Really it is all a kind of life healing process…. like I want/hope to share with those that need it, both on a physical level and spirit.
Maybe that is you.
This woman comes to me with a story, but I find out later she is telling it to me to relieve the longing she has for those she is at the moment separated from. The story is her story and all true to her. But for me, when I listen, I only hear her side. She is the only real thing about the story, since the life she longs to return to is not tangible to this time or place. Her insistence and constant focus upon what was happening to her are the things that make her story real to me. Then the only thing I can do is listen, which appears to give her some relief.
She is a very normal and intelligent woman. I became involved with her through a project. She wanted someone to read the book she was writing. It was to be an anthology of poetry, of the haiku she had written over the years. But she wanted it to be more than just a display of her work. She wanted to teach others how to capture their memories using this format of writing. As we spoke to each other over the months and then set a regular working lunch date each week, she began to relax with me and talk. That is when she began to relate her story to me. I sensed she was actually pushed by an urgency to tell me what was happening to her, that some how this would make it more real to her. For another person to hear all, that had been affecting her. I can say I was amazed. As an author I found the story captivating. But then I felt as she related each detail, that she would allow, that no one could just make this stuff up. The people, places and events were related to as actually lived events in her life, where ever this was and had occurred. She told me details filled with emotions, reactions, that were way beyond mere descriptions. As I sat and listened sipping my coffee, I felt I could actually see the events and could form opinions about the people involved. Her story telling would often turn into discussions. I would find myself offering opinions on what to do or what to ask of these people she was dealing with. That is when it all became very real to me. I decided to start writing down each conversation I had with her. She told me that her lover companions had promised to come get her, when they knew she was ready for the journey home. And I believed her at this point. I knew against any rational thinking on my part that who ever and what ever was coming and how, that it would happen. That one day, soon, I would not see her again. At the least not as I was seeing her now. I would witness this impossible transformation or know of it happening.
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For now, until then, I will write this fantasy of hers and include in it her anthology as a tribute to her journey home. A fantasy that could affect the world as I know it and even myself. It is all that real to me, though it is not mine to live, as she lives its reality. But maybe, I am, living it. I can say her story has changed my life and even how I see things now in the world. I hope to find my own relief in the writing and sharing of her life, as she had lived it and will live it after she has made her way home.