From my world to yours

To you:

The universe is divided into yours and mine. I would complicate this discussion by talking about my space and my time and by your space and your time. And then, beyond comprehending, there is all of theirs – so very many.

Or perhaps I could simplify it all with a series of Venn Diagrams. Nesting and intersecting circles. But it is difficult enough just talking about this tedium and the joy.

So my friend, my love, my bosom pal – have I mentioned anything in words or deeds about how I feel?

It is night time in my world, and as I sometimes do, I put on a robe and crack open the back door as silently as it will allow so as not to wake anyone else and I walk around. Tonight in my space and time the moon was not quite full, just past its zenith, low in the sky, higher than I can reach.

I thought of you.

I realize that you are far away. If you were sleeping just up the street, I could walk over and knock on your door. You would be startled to see me in my robe. You would be cross – at first – but if I persisted, you would open up your arms and enfold them around me. We could step outside and I would show you the moon as it looks from my world.

But my bare feet are tender.

And, of course, I know your husband would do the same for me. But it would not be the same. I am speaking now of the Particularity Paradigm, but I won’t expand or contract on what I am trying carefully to say. Simply, you are not there tonight as I have already noted. You are somewhere else.

And so I must tediously point out with these wayward words what might better be shared in a look. But I wonder how often we are actually looking at each other at the same time. And it seems to me, we can only look into each other’s spaces. In our being, we are not entirely in the same universe.

If I am not being clear, it is not entirely my fault. And it is surely not yours. It is the nature of the universe, as I said at the very beginning.

So let me start over from the top – the middle, really.

In my universe the grass is damp. The bugs all around me are rasping their attempts at communication. Only the brightest stars prickle through the hazy blanket of atmosphere. And I could show you all of this in a heartbeat if you were standing by my side. But would you see what I see through my eyes, or more precisely, what I see in my mind?

Perhaps I should begin again, but words are too much and too little. And yet though our bodies are far apart and our minds are often – perhaps always – in separate worlds, I feel as if you yet know something of what I have been trying to say. It has, after all, been a beautiful night under my moon and you, only a thought away.

Oh, but wait. I was not wrong to try to understand by twos. And I was right to say that comprehension will be impossible beyond the consideration of my own two feet. And perhaps not even then. But so it is that the ocean is filled with salt of washings before and beyond mine. And many worlds have come and gone in the blinking of an eye.

I am speaking now to the moon and through its reflected light I think that the mystery is this: It is within the sharing of our emptiness that our joy is filled.

But these are only words, after all. All this talk of worlds. I should try to express myself better some time. If only my bare feet weren’t so tender. But I would not want a smaller world. We shall see each other when our eyes are open.

And so now I will remind you that the moon is setting into night-darkened trees in my world and the grass is damp. Light from an empty room can be seen when I turn. Perhaps I should have said something about the music.

Good night,

PS I asked the moon about time, but I got no answer. This photo was under a notebook in a drawer I rarely open. The people look familiar - something in their eyes. She reminds me of you and he reminds me of him. And the night reminds of the day.