Return Home- The Ancient One

Rumors of wars within my internal structure color my morning. Still, I rise determined. On these pages is the world pristine, even as the world around me falls apart. I begin my day journaling about a dream conversation that somehow made it intact past the threshold. I find myself stunned still, considering all the possibilities that might unfold. Only a short time away, I wonder when the last time a new year has felt so tangible, like it's its own contained entity, daunting. These thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. When I open the door, The Ancient One stands there, shining brightly in the hallway, dispelling a large portion of what weighs on me.

"I am expected, no?"

I smile widely at her and gesture her in as I say "To a degree, though I cannot bring myself to assume so thoroughly. You are certainly welcome."

She gracefully crosses the threshold, and then immediately her energy transitions to some kind of small mammal as she pounces on my bed while I return to my chair. I love that juxtaposition within her; it is quite familiar to me. It is like she dons her mask or persona to suit polite society, better than nearly anyone, but is ready at any moment to cast it aside and return to her preferred playful core. Here I can tell that she is comfortable, which I cannot comprehend anyone faking thoroughly enough to fool me. Without a word, this compliment shifts my day towards a comfort, a belief that things will turn out wonderfully.

I defer the choice to her "What would you like to do today?"

"I was in the mood to play pool, maybe shuffleboard?"

Like an ancient memory dusted off, I remember the days before I moved here when I would visit this town, having an amazing time with friends- one friend in particular- who has long since moved away. I don't think that I've thought of the place, which she has so easily brought back to mind, since moving back, and I certainly haven't set foot inside. 

"That sounds amazing! I know just the place."

So I place my jacket on her shoulders, and a second one upon my own. The day may even be a bit warm for such items, but she seems to have already grasped tightly the edges, refusing to let go of what I have granted her. I make a tiny smile, not entirely certain how to express the emotion of witnessing such subtle jealousy.

As we walk to the bar and restaurant, I remember the night when two friends made a two hour trip to support me. They took me to this place and, along the way, I remember this deep sense that I was in a ghost town. There were people, but not nearly as many as there should have been; it was truly a surreal experience. There are people here as well now, I'm pretty sure; my focus has been entirely engrossed in my partner, and my gaze references hers alone, watching as her starry eyes soak in everything they can. We walk casually, and I recall that sometimes even an unfettered step or two can possess value unequaled. We walk unfettered the entire way, as others slowly filter into my awareness, but keep to the edges.

We grab a small table in the corner. This place has a different vibe than when I was last here, catering to families more it seems, perhaps just during the day. I note well how my partner lights up watching the children. We order our appetizers, and begin with some shuffle board. I remember days gone by, spent in bars enjoying a meal, and writing a poem to commemorate another day persevered. That sentiment of days cementing like scars on skin, each one earned at a price, has certainly persisted. Still, I have not had an opportunity such as this before, where comfort and excitement on both sides come to a head, and such a move is acceptable. When the game ends, I offer up what's on my mind.

"I'm going to write a poem about you, and then read it to you, if that's alright?"

Her look starts sharp and then shifts immediately to an out of place softness. I make note that she would have preferred that I did not ask, but she rebalances and responds simply with "Please do."

I do not rush, though I tend to write rather rapidly when I am at an unrushed pace, regardless. Like a sketch artist, I glance up from time to time to renew my inspiration. She busies herself looking around the room, picking at our food, and otherwise averting her attention, so as not to unduly derail the words forming. We do meet eyes once in the process though, and I double down on my sketch artist's image, by closing one eye and holding my thumb up for framing purposes. She laughs loudly, which is to be expected, and smacks my arm playfully, though with some force. I gasp and feign a wound, to which she rolls her eyes, and I finish up my Piece of Eight, inspired specifically by her.

"The Ancient One's Eyes

How am I meant to meet them?

One glance defeats me

If I look away

Know that I gather my thoughts

To try once again

Interest compound(s/ing)

I'll infer from your presence

Value is worth price

What more can we do,

Those shouldering our station,

Except be worth it?

Just one glance confirms-

Though watching all night works too-

You are worth each line

Every morning's dawn

And each night spent here alone 

Your smile burns away

Renew joy within

Its remnant felt with you here

With one spark, ignite 

How long might it be

The last second before 

Eternity blooms?"

She grows redder and redder, with each passing line but, through great effort, does not look away. I can tell that she counts each beat, for as soon as "looms" passes my lips, in one motion she shifts from behind the table and surges into my arms.

"I can do that every day, you know. Each morning a new poem to wake up to. Though, knowing my lazy morning ways, I'll have written it the night before."

She laughs almost compulsively, as I intentionally imbalance the mood, just enough, not to embarrass either of us, here in this public place.

"That sounds amazing."

We separate again, and actually do get a game of pool in, once a table has cleared. The entire day is filled with nonsense and banter; I even remember to ask what she thought about Shiba Inu Day, which triggers her immediate and delightfully loud laughter again. "Every dog should have his day."

Night falls while we aren't looking. Just outside the billiards hall, the evening traffic is starting to pick up. If it was a ghost town, much like the last time, it is populated once more. There's something about the anonymity of night that draws us both out of our shells, and we laugh and talk like no one is watching, on the way back to my place.

Midway back I recall, and blurt out immediately "Oh yeah! I wanted to watch the stars with you."

She scrunches up warmly in her jacket, for the night, and simply says "Yes."

She does have us stop by a local retailer, to get two rather fancy and warm blankets. Then we get a car just a few minutes up the mountain, to the observatory. The tour is enjoyable, and they use the laser pointer again to identify the constellations, which I always enjoy. I feel myself fully relax as I hold our blankets, and my partner expresses her disbelief at the resolution of one particular telescope. "Do you see the shimmer around the edges?" I see her squint and then she exclaims "Yes! What is that?" 

"Chromatic aberration." I get a far off look and wonder what Hope might be up to tonight. "Purple and Green, and everything in between."

My partner stands and simply smiles, already familiar with many of my quirks. "Let's see if one of them had a recommendation for where to set up our blankets nearby." With a little doing, we identify a spot, away from prying eyes. On this dead of winter New Moon night, it feels as though our spot is away from everything and everyone. Huddled together under our oversized blanket, atop our other oversized blanket, everything is perfect, if still a bit chilly. The night sky is astounding, absolutely astounding. Part of me wishes that I had picked up a laser pointer, but the rest of me feels exhilarated by the cumbersome process of pointing out constellations by hand.

"I wonder how many times each constellation has been named, over the course and scope of extended human history and culture."

That comment seems to shift us to a timeless station, one occupied by others throughout time, huddled together on their blankets, and watching the stars. We could be on any mountain, on any night, but it is this mountain, and this night, that finds us here.

"I'd say at least one less time than is needed."

I nod and we determine which arrangement of stars we will claim as our own. Finding our place amongst the stars, we determine a name: The Unbroken Heart.

Hours pass perfectly, and I am of no mind to move. Our space under the blanket has warmed sufficiently, and I sense that The Ancient One is equally satisfied just staying here until the ink runs dry.

"Starry eyed dreamer in due time grows up

To find wild Heart of the Muse robust

Inseparable, still filling my cup

To the brim, 'A toast to defining trust!'

Moment by moment we watch the night sky

Drawn into eternity hand in hand

On wish and prayer, I promise to try

With you, accomplishing all we have planned

Beginning to end, beginning again

That which was broken, ground to dust and new

Let dust mix with water, brush be as pen

Let whole heart be found, trustworthy and true.

Pieces to pigment, becoming the art 

These words are to mark The Unbroken Heart."

"Happy New Year! May this year deliver all the promises lost amidst its predecessors."

"Amen."