Static, static, static… love Part 2
And in a dimension without me her adopted mother was that patient caregiver, simply someone to fuck her out of strength and will and self and to carry her gently amongst the thorns and dusted winds, stingingly vulnerable, stretching out her own selfish contentment of being needed, until the day foretold for all parents when her skeleton was too weak for the demands of a dependent and she simply cast Julia into that garden of weeds and ravenous insects to fight or to die.
But I am in this particular dimension, as well as infinite others that afford Julia the strength she deserves and on that afternoon the sun couldn’t be held by the clouds, not for lack of trying, as they continuously churned and multiplied, even thickened, and, in a desperate final attempt to reclaim the sky, darkened. Still unable speak over the jarring voice of that summer sun, the clouds were incapable of preventing the sun’s light from routinely blinding the adopted mother as she attempted to expose her child to the wonders of ancient wealth. And these moments of blindness allowed the little girl to wander deeper into the magnificent multi-tiered garden, awed by the vines and dangerously bright and rich fruit that lined the various stone fences. And Julia, who still had trouble simply pronouncing bulimia or masochism and far less comprehending the possibility that they might someday become two of her greatest escapes, peered into the still waters surrounding a churning fountain, fantastically not even minding her reflection but rather enjoying the way her intangible face shared the plane of light with the red, orange, and green koi swimming rhythmically beneath its surface. And I smiled, as a spirit, when she left the koi to enjoy that plane of light as their own. The moment Julia separated herself from the fantasy of a life underwater she became aware that her mother was gone, not simply in some unknown location as any mature mind might conclude but rather had completely departed the earth, ceased to exist. Any philosopher or metaphysical scientist need simply watch a child’s face as the realization slowly but forcibly grasps their entire consciousness that their guardian, the only sense of safety they had ever found, or ever would find, was no longer protecting them to finally conclude that there is no supernatural bond between a mother and child, that the security comes not from the physical presence but rather the imaged (correctly or incorrectly) presence, that a parent is not unlike any false form of security provided the adult. It is the convictions that keep one secure, not their physical or spiritual counterparts, as is made evident by the rapid change in a child’s demeanor when they find themselves no longer convinced that their parent is their protector, even if that fact is completely untrue. I smiled because I felt so physically, emotionally, religiously attracted to that look of insecurity that I knew what it meant to love all over again. And what exceeded that beauty was the simplicity, futility, of the response, the tears and the one stiffened arm she rhythmically swung up to shield her vision and then removed, the simple and feral and ancestrally infantile idea that the very act of closing one’s eyes and weeping audibly was so powerful a cure that it could overcome even the most acute crisis that threatened one’s existential safety.
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