i’ve been thinking a lot about the practice of escape. how and why we escape from what is real, what is true, what is important. what is it that we are avoiding, not we as me and you only, but everybody we are in relationship with. how much of our day, life, is in escape from what we are here for, which is to be free. we are escaping from ourselves, mostly. we are lucky to have time now in this moment to face ourselves, to know who we are. how we can be more aware of creating such moments and escape less. i confess my fear these days: to get slowly abducted by the details of things, those monstrous details that allow us to think that we are faring better than others, and that we are using our brains and bodies “well.”
Dear Ola,
Everything has changed.
Very little has changed. Little: subtle. Little: unimportant. Little: does not seem fundamental.
Since i last wrote to you.
Every sunday, tuesday and thursday at 11:00 i see Omar.
For an hour he makes a fool of me.
For an hour i sweat and scream.
For an hour i feel shame and power.
For an hour i feel oh yes this is exactly what i want.
For an hour i wish i could refuse it all.
At the end of the hour he lets me go.
For weeks i obsessed about Omar.
The obsession has turned into normal.
Sometimes i leave Omar bruised.
Always flushed.
Sometimes broken.
Always alive.
Blood and bone. Of blood and bone. My blood and my bone.
Will not leave me alone.
Urine is yellow and hazy, present mucus and crystals.
The red blood cells are normochromic normocytic.
The white blood cells are normal in total count and differential.
The platelets are adequate with normal size.
Bilirubin Direct serum is high.
Not enough D.
Sugars are higher but below worry.
Vaginal discharge: a memory a gesture a gift of an adventure.
Twisted satisfaction bordering on pride in the drop of sweat that just hit the floor splashing.
Pain.
I still want to be seen by crowds that do not look at me as best as possible. Sweat is a problem. Awkwardness is a problem. Inability is a problem. Stiff nipples is a problem. Butch release of breath is a problem. That is a problem. I am relieved to look like a fool and be seen by all (no one is actually looking) and even if i still cannot stare back, i am free. For a moment.
Feeling good.
Feeling good.
Love,
chau
