In Search of Syzygy
May. 2nd, 2002 01:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kuangningIt is the mind which creates the world about us, and even though we stand side by side in the same meadow, my eyes will never see what is beheld by yours, my heart will never stir to the emotions with which yours is touched.
- George Gissing
I closed my eyes, and just for a second, I could see you. Your smile was warm, bright, for once the lines of discontent and the haunted look was gone.
I've never seen your face.
For a second, your laughter rang out, the fretful tone and the cutting edge replaced by a lazy, relaxed sound, as fulfilling and fulfilled as a cat's purr, an almost tangible sound of satisfaction, of pride, of triumph.
I've never heard your voice.
When I was a child, I dreamed of knowing. I dreamed of being known, without the encumbrance of words. I spun fantasies of being seen, of being taken in with a glance, of walking into someone's arms and never having to think of explanations again, for none would ever be necessary.
When I was older, I picked up a book in the library, torn and tattered as it was, and was handed a name for the thing I'd been searching for for so long.
Syzygy.
It exists, but not for us. Amoeba, of all life forms... they experience it, as if to prove that the least will be first, and the low experience glory. They do what humans cannot - they merge, become one. And when they separate, each has a complete and perfect knowledge of the other; each is a perfect replica of the combination. I left the dream behind with my tears in the pages of that book... but the longing stayed.
We begin our lives in almost a parasitic state of union. Our every heartbeat is echoed, our mother's body provides our needs before we are aware of having them. We are enclosed, we are known. And then... then we are born, and we begin to learn that the casing of flesh which is supposed to protect us, is also the wall we cannot escape, which will make sure that for the rest of our lives, we will be alone.
We share our beds, our bodies, with strangers. We give our hearts to people who will only ever be companions, at best. Fellow travellers, with us but also separate, also alone. What are you thinking? What do you feel? Around the time that I learned that it could be lonelier to share my bed than to sleep by myself, I turned back to the words I'd wanted an alternative to so long before. Since then... since then, I've learned to use them well, out of self-defense. Out of defiance. I will never have syzygy. But, if these words can suffice at all; if I can use them and prove myself equal to the task, I will be known.
Random Acts of Journaling, May 2002.
- George Gissing
I closed my eyes, and just for a second, I could see you. Your smile was warm, bright, for once the lines of discontent and the haunted look was gone.
I've never seen your face.
For a second, your laughter rang out, the fretful tone and the cutting edge replaced by a lazy, relaxed sound, as fulfilling and fulfilled as a cat's purr, an almost tangible sound of satisfaction, of pride, of triumph.
I've never heard your voice.
When I was a child, I dreamed of knowing. I dreamed of being known, without the encumbrance of words. I spun fantasies of being seen, of being taken in with a glance, of walking into someone's arms and never having to think of explanations again, for none would ever be necessary.
When I was older, I picked up a book in the library, torn and tattered as it was, and was handed a name for the thing I'd been searching for for so long.
Syzygy.
It exists, but not for us. Amoeba, of all life forms... they experience it, as if to prove that the least will be first, and the low experience glory. They do what humans cannot - they merge, become one. And when they separate, each has a complete and perfect knowledge of the other; each is a perfect replica of the combination. I left the dream behind with my tears in the pages of that book... but the longing stayed.
We begin our lives in almost a parasitic state of union. Our every heartbeat is echoed, our mother's body provides our needs before we are aware of having them. We are enclosed, we are known. And then... then we are born, and we begin to learn that the casing of flesh which is supposed to protect us, is also the wall we cannot escape, which will make sure that for the rest of our lives, we will be alone.
We share our beds, our bodies, with strangers. We give our hearts to people who will only ever be companions, at best. Fellow travellers, with us but also separate, also alone. What are you thinking? What do you feel? Around the time that I learned that it could be lonelier to share my bed than to sleep by myself, I turned back to the words I'd wanted an alternative to so long before. Since then... since then, I've learned to use them well, out of self-defense. Out of defiance. I will never have syzygy. But, if these words can suffice at all; if I can use them and prove myself equal to the task, I will be known.
Random Acts of Journaling, May 2002.
