Post by krysondra on Aug 20, 2007 11:04:05 GMT -5
I seem to spend a vast majority of my life hanging out in the thin air, generally waiting for one of three things to happen. The first option is that sudden splat that always seems to come after a long fall. The second is that floating sensation that eventually leads to some sort of relatively safe landing. The final one is that mid-air collision with someone or something else that ends in a catch as opposed to a splat. I will say that I am not a large fan of the first one. Something about “splat” has never sat well with me, even when it was just the Coyote getting outsmarted by the Roadrunner. Floating and catching are definitely my preferred option, which technically means that I should be ok 66.667% of the time. However, anyone who has ever been in a high-stakes, emotional cliff jumping moment knows that those odds are about as false as any odds can get. In high-stakes, emotional cliff jumping, about the best that you can really hope for is that the splat will kill you so that the embarrassment doesn’t.
Austin, there’s something that I have to tell you.
Now, much to the dismay of friends, family, and therapists alike, it would appear that I spend most of my time camped out on a cliff – waiting to take an absolutely insane, perfectly unstable, utterly un-guaranteed leap of faith. After all, isn’t that the entire point of a cliff jumping, leap of faith? You put yourself out on the ledge. You feel the wind in your hair. You hear all of your life – quite possibly known as the voice(s) of reason – behind you, screaming that what you are about to do is insane, dangerous, against all commonsense, and against all reason. Then, because you are willing, you are ready, and you have faith that something will catch you before that ill-fated splat – even if it rarely happens like that, you put one foot out in thin air. People – friends and family and therapists – cry out from behind you, attempting to pull you back from the edge, telling you not to do this. You smile to yourself. You tune out the rest of the world, and without a moment’s notice, you push yourself off and up and out. The leap is over, and for lack of a better phrase, the air-time begins.
Austin, I think you know what I’m about to say.
Your eyes are closed. Your heart is beating faster. Your breath hangs before you in the cold air so far from the ground. You wait. Even when your body passes that cartoon pause before the drop, you stay still. You have faith that whatever happens, it is as it should be. Regardless of the fears, doubts, and rationality that plagued you on the land, you are now in the air, and they are either out of reach on the cliff or waiting at the bottom for the splat. You are still smiling because you know you have waited for the exact right moment – which by my definition is the moment when you can’t put it off any longer. When you know that you will walk off of that cliff because you can’t live with the consequences of not doing it. When you become sure that, regardless of how far away the bottom is and how bad it is going to hurt when you hit it, the love of the rush of air, the need for an answer to your faith, the trust that what you were waiting for – someone or something – will be there before the ground is.
Austin, you do know that I love you, don’t you?
From the moment I met him, met you because you’ll be reading this one day, all that we’ve done and had and been was a leap of faith. In some respects, everything that he and I, we, will become is a leap of faith. After all, what chance do two almost-ordinary people stand in this world where love can be so easily bought and sold, found but lost again, portrayed in wide-screen, epic proportions that dwarf the magical, everyday love that we share? Like every other person in this world, not the world in my mind where I can see the cliff and the ground below and feel the whispers of the wind telling me to go while the earth begs my feet to stay, he, I, we took a leap of faith.
Austin, I do love you.
The air rushed by my face. My heart did beat faster and in an extremely uncomfortable place in my throat. At the same time, I knew it was the right moment because the words were stuck to my tongue. If I opened my mouth at all, they were going to come out. It couldn’t wait. I wouldn’t wait. So, by definition, it was the right moment, and in spite of all the pre-leap jitters, I smiled and felt at peace in myself. I had done it. I had leapt off of the cliff again. I waited in the thin air for you or some higher power to keep me from falling, and my leap of faith was answered by the wind that held me up and carried me higher, further away from the ground. The wind, which could have been him, you, or the pure intervention of faith or fate caught me and took me away with it.
It is your turn to ask, and I will answer. How long will I love you?
Yet, before I am completely lost in this moment, this leap of faith with him, you, I hear the people on the ground. They reach the edge where I once stood and mill about uncertainly. Finally, in a voice mixed equally with disgust, shame, and envy, someone – I think my best and longest friend – mutters to the rest. “She’s done it again. She’s gone.” I know he’s shaking his head as he speaks just like I know that his face is a mask of contempt, because to him, my rationale and leaps of faith are nothing more than jumps to conclusions which I put far too much faith in. Yet, because he is also my longest friend, I know that his eyes will burn with envy behind his mask. He has never had the faith to leap off the cliff and can only, in some simple way, despise those who can do what he can’t. I know he will forgive me my faith as I forgive his lack of it. He continues to shake his head as I relax into Austin’s, your, embrace. A note of wonder joins the envy in his voice. “She’s cliff-jumping again.”
EBW, known as Austin in some worlds and other things in other places, it [your name] really doesn’t matter. You’re always the same person. I will love you as long as there are unicorns and as long as there is good to be done in the world and as long as there are people alive who remember what love is.
To Austin – With love, light, and hope. Always. – Love, Krys/Kitty
(Feedback/Discussion is always welcomed. *ss* Hope you enjoyed this little piece of my soul.)
Austin, there’s something that I have to tell you.
Now, much to the dismay of friends, family, and therapists alike, it would appear that I spend most of my time camped out on a cliff – waiting to take an absolutely insane, perfectly unstable, utterly un-guaranteed leap of faith. After all, isn’t that the entire point of a cliff jumping, leap of faith? You put yourself out on the ledge. You feel the wind in your hair. You hear all of your life – quite possibly known as the voice(s) of reason – behind you, screaming that what you are about to do is insane, dangerous, against all commonsense, and against all reason. Then, because you are willing, you are ready, and you have faith that something will catch you before that ill-fated splat – even if it rarely happens like that, you put one foot out in thin air. People – friends and family and therapists – cry out from behind you, attempting to pull you back from the edge, telling you not to do this. You smile to yourself. You tune out the rest of the world, and without a moment’s notice, you push yourself off and up and out. The leap is over, and for lack of a better phrase, the air-time begins.
Austin, I think you know what I’m about to say.
Your eyes are closed. Your heart is beating faster. Your breath hangs before you in the cold air so far from the ground. You wait. Even when your body passes that cartoon pause before the drop, you stay still. You have faith that whatever happens, it is as it should be. Regardless of the fears, doubts, and rationality that plagued you on the land, you are now in the air, and they are either out of reach on the cliff or waiting at the bottom for the splat. You are still smiling because you know you have waited for the exact right moment – which by my definition is the moment when you can’t put it off any longer. When you know that you will walk off of that cliff because you can’t live with the consequences of not doing it. When you become sure that, regardless of how far away the bottom is and how bad it is going to hurt when you hit it, the love of the rush of air, the need for an answer to your faith, the trust that what you were waiting for – someone or something – will be there before the ground is.
Austin, you do know that I love you, don’t you?
From the moment I met him, met you because you’ll be reading this one day, all that we’ve done and had and been was a leap of faith. In some respects, everything that he and I, we, will become is a leap of faith. After all, what chance do two almost-ordinary people stand in this world where love can be so easily bought and sold, found but lost again, portrayed in wide-screen, epic proportions that dwarf the magical, everyday love that we share? Like every other person in this world, not the world in my mind where I can see the cliff and the ground below and feel the whispers of the wind telling me to go while the earth begs my feet to stay, he, I, we took a leap of faith.
Austin, I do love you.
The air rushed by my face. My heart did beat faster and in an extremely uncomfortable place in my throat. At the same time, I knew it was the right moment because the words were stuck to my tongue. If I opened my mouth at all, they were going to come out. It couldn’t wait. I wouldn’t wait. So, by definition, it was the right moment, and in spite of all the pre-leap jitters, I smiled and felt at peace in myself. I had done it. I had leapt off of the cliff again. I waited in the thin air for you or some higher power to keep me from falling, and my leap of faith was answered by the wind that held me up and carried me higher, further away from the ground. The wind, which could have been him, you, or the pure intervention of faith or fate caught me and took me away with it.
It is your turn to ask, and I will answer. How long will I love you?
Yet, before I am completely lost in this moment, this leap of faith with him, you, I hear the people on the ground. They reach the edge where I once stood and mill about uncertainly. Finally, in a voice mixed equally with disgust, shame, and envy, someone – I think my best and longest friend – mutters to the rest. “She’s done it again. She’s gone.” I know he’s shaking his head as he speaks just like I know that his face is a mask of contempt, because to him, my rationale and leaps of faith are nothing more than jumps to conclusions which I put far too much faith in. Yet, because he is also my longest friend, I know that his eyes will burn with envy behind his mask. He has never had the faith to leap off the cliff and can only, in some simple way, despise those who can do what he can’t. I know he will forgive me my faith as I forgive his lack of it. He continues to shake his head as I relax into Austin’s, your, embrace. A note of wonder joins the envy in his voice. “She’s cliff-jumping again.”
EBW, known as Austin in some worlds and other things in other places, it [your name] really doesn’t matter. You’re always the same person. I will love you as long as there are unicorns and as long as there is good to be done in the world and as long as there are people alive who remember what love is.
To Austin – With love, light, and hope. Always. – Love, Krys/Kitty
(Feedback/Discussion is always welcomed. *ss* Hope you enjoyed this little piece of my soul.)