Insanities: A Reprise

The rains pounded down that night. He forced himself to walk to the appointed place, but appointed by whom?

How can it be that a man can be alone in his house, just trying to write, when he senses he is no longer alone?

So it happened. Suddenly it was as if an invisible presence had taken over his hands, his fingers, willing him to write, think and even say things he otherwise might not have said, not like this, not here, not now.

***

Driving through the rain, threading your way between two huge tractor-trailers, the image forms of what would happen if you just allowed yourself to slip a bit to the left or a bit to the right.

How did it happen? That’s what the voices would ask, but they would be way too late. After all, the choice to keep showing up is one nobody ever makes alone. That is what makes it so difficult to accept for all who remain.

***

Look up, the sky is open, the moon a sliver. Look down; your footsteps leave no trace. Here, secrets find refuge.

You walk until suddenly you are no longer alone. Where did you come from? Is this a dream?

The rain closes around you both, keeping the rest of the world at length.
She steps on tiptoes to breathe into your ear: "This never happened. I was never here."

"Tell me your story, I'm listening," she whispers again, now from an eastern wind.

You start: “She was like a feather floating in on an unseen breeze. Her eyes big as moons but dark as the night, hiding as much as they show. Her tongue soft and wet; her hands soft and warm. She folded into me like my long-lost other half; we kept each other warm when the air grew cold."

"Yes, that's good.,” says the deadly witch from the west. “Tell me more."

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