At Home

I hope the previous four entries fill in the gaps a bit. The story now continues with something I wrote back then, when first staggered at what really exists in the world, when we two first confessed unabashed appetency after years of starvation.

What an anomaly...why is it that we most love to share our thoughts in conversation with the very person for whom words are never necessary? Perhaps it's nothing more than ensuring wakefulness. I mean, it's pretty clear "we are such stuff as dreams are made on," but it's nice to have a convincer every now and then to prove the ephemeral has very concrete implications. Language reveals it and solidifies the fleeting. It's what builds the universe, one word at a time, all around us. It makes the unbelievable believable. Hence this blog. To all naysayers: believe it.

The following commemorates one of the signal events in my life leading up to now, which I never saw coming. It was when the Latin words sperantes and fides first entered my vocabulary and my head was spinning. I'm still staggered. No need for any editing, so here 'tis.

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I suppose I'm a bit of a geezer now to others, although I feel much the same mentally as I did after the great migration northward. And winter, ah, our glorious Minnesota winter, reminds me once again how lucky I've been and am.

It's snowing like crazy now, and looking out the window at the neighbor's sky all freckled with fluffy powder puffs coming down, dotting the I's and spotting my eyes, forming a translucent viewing screen, grey-orange illuminating from above, from where stars would like to shine, I think of home--this home, which I've come to love and have made through all sorts of luck.


Because: this winter is as intense as my first winter here, in my first real home, of my own choosing. 

Because: what Mars Bonfire wrote of, sang of, has manifested itself, been made flesh, through some sort of magick unimaginable previously. 

Because: I have a friend, trusting and ever trusted, and that friend is at home. 

Because: the home is never empty, even when empty. Roderick Usher, stop your whining! 

Because: car doors signal love, countertops invite as chairs, invisible black coats manifest images, green laser beams transfix, cheap Hy-Vee containers from the fridge lay an elegant table setting, brushing teeth becomes a joint sacrament. 

Because: this is what homes are for.

Anyway, that's what being at home means to me.
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In the law of contagion, the mage requires some physical link to the intended object of desire. Which is indeed what I have, sprawled upon the sofa of flames, luxuriating in a fragrance dreamt up ages ago.

To the more coarse among you: do you remember the homecoming parade in the movie
Animal House? When the playmate bunny was catapulted from the float, through a window, onto the bed of a teenage boy ogling a spicy magazine? And what he said?

Sort of like that...


Next installment: The Year of the Horse

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