Asperges me, Domine, hyssopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.


Again. I am here again, braced between void and stone, high above the black deep, feet unsteady on rock rough-hewn by ages of abuse.

Everything is as it was — ten? twenty? — years ago: before Maarten, before the children, before any of them had come and gone from my life. I know this is somewhere before the beginning, though I cannot place it in time, nor approach it as a real memory. I rememeber nothing before or after with which to anchor it.

There’s something too real about this, every sensation arriving in a brief infinity. I hear each raindrop in perfect clarity as it cuts through salt air, and the clean impact of its annihilation against earth. Beneath violent outbursts of dialogue between ocean and wind, I hear the muted voices of a battle as old as the world. And I understand, for it is a rage directed at me also: one thousand knives press my back, punishment for a crime I cannot recall. Only the roiling deep and an emptiness as wide as the horizon serve as reminder for a long-suppressed tragedy.

A death by inches, she said, or swift destruction. Either way, you are mine.

I know that this unnamed place is a light to shadow, a window into something lost, but true: buried beneath wife, mother, sleepwalker, suicide. If I am to be saved at all, it must be here. But I am so afraid!

I’ve chosen to hide, again and again. I have gone to both the knife and the deep, and yet — Here I am, forced to face the choice one more time.

We sit, frozen by fear of motion.

It would be so easy to let go, just like before. But I’ve made my decision. Oh my children, forgive me.

She has forgotten that I am also a thing of air and rock and water, and though broken and scarred, I am strong and eternal.


I could not have imagined it would come to this. To have searched so long and so single-mindedly only to find you at last — but still, and silent, and years too late. Fr. Rivera tells me that the end came quickly and without pain, and I can take some comfort in those words, but in my mind I see you as you were on that day in Heiligenstädt so long ago, as we broke our embrace and laid our plans against fate. You were so strong then! And I was the one who had to be pulled, lifeless, from the edge of darkness.

I’ve experienced beauty and thunder, cataclysm and renewal, on my journeys — been transformed by them, reborn, but still have never felt as safe or alive as when you held me beneath your coat. I was so helpless and small, and you… was it heat from your sheltering flesh I felt, or the flush of mingling fires of my love and shame? I still don’t know, and suppose I never shall.

They are closing the gates, and I must go. But I will return tomorrow and for all the days thereafter, until you awaken or sleep bring me to your side. I am here, and will not leave you again.

tags: ariadne , latin , writing

  • better late then never :°

    Happy birthday. :)

  • Happy birthday, of course! ^^

  • Thank you so much, everyone. :)

    xoxo right back.

  • miranda

    happy birthday sweetie! may you yourself be true & may this be a year of epiphanies and understanding for you. p.s. please update more! xoxo

  • happy birthday dear.

    this is a very haunting, evocative post. lovely.

  • many happy returns, albeit belated!

    it reads like a river, twisting effortlessly through my mind...keep it coming!!

  • freesia

    I don't know how it continues to be possible that I both love you like a sister and fear you like a phantom, but yet there it is.

    Happy birthday, darling. Hopefully I will see you more before your next one.

  • j david

    I thought that my birthday greetings would be original, but no...even your friends are thoughtful!

    Happy birthday anyway- best wishes for the next year.

    Now, where is that latin dictionary...

  • hanseth

    Happy birthday, yuki. I would love to read more like this. Here's to surviving another year.

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