Whimsy

After many years of whimsy I spent many more in things dark. Then after many years of things dark I chose to seek light. But now, after many years of being in the light, I yearn to seek whimsy again. From here though, I can only look back through the dark to see my whimsy. It sits on the other side calling me, and yet I stay on this side calling it.

It seems neither of us will risk the trip. I fear if I go seeking it through the dark it too may do the same. Then we will have passed through darkness once more only to find each other on opposite sides again. So now we must narrow our eyes to see each other through the smoke of darkness and know that no matter how my light heart touches whimsy, or no matter how much whimsy touches my light heart, the darkness slips its brew into what flows between us.

Perhaps now whimsy is for me a muse, or a siren treacherously calling me with a song so beautiful and yet a price so high. A price that could bankrupt the soul. So I sit and pretend to know it well. I listen in the distance for its words. Then I use its words to bring salt to my own. A salt that has passed through darkness yet again. Yet again.

[From a letter to a friend, 20 December, 2002