READ ME!


READ ME ... yeah, right. Right?

I'm sick of everyone else having on-line diaries. I want one too.

What is this all about? Maybe you should read the READ ME READ ME.


december 21, 1996: s o l s t i c e


I sit at solstice. Much has changed.
I've vacuumed out. I've rearranged.

The longest night. The shortest day.
A burst of light. A bit of play.

A humbled sigh. A different plane.
A stifled die. A dismissed pain.

Do not fear what you don't know.
Begin to hear.
Flow, slow, Grow.


the Sea

For people who love the ocean, skimming the surface is not enough.

You must meld with it, flow with it, obsess with it, bury yourself in it.

It is your bed, your air, your substinence, your coffin. It speaks to you. You listen.

It is the most powerful thing in the universe, but you do not want to leash that power; you want to worship it.

It connects with you; it leaves you offerings. It torments you with its secrets.

It calls to you, mocks you, taunts you, beckons you. You cannot stay away.

You cannot get close enough. You want to live there, eat, sleep, breathe, sing, cry, move, emerge there.

You cannot own it; it owns you.

And all you need to do is
breathe.


whisper


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THE README INDEX

or, if you must, back to Rebecca's Revenge


Copyright 1996 Rebecca Eisenberg mars@bossanova.com. All rights Reserved.