I am here now,
empty handed and barefoot,
but somehow
able to see things again.

By some miracle
perhaps ,
my desire was tempered
by the Friend's whispering,
so that I may be a better friend
to you.

That's my private name for her...Grey Eyes. And they are very, very grey, a lake shrouded in mist. A strange thing, to be in love with a feeling. To be enamored of arrivals, departures, mitigations. Odd also, when someone leads you to an understanding of yourself...or at least, a part of yourself. It is satisfying for me to let futures go. In some strange way, it's fulfilling and sad, for someone to reach out a hand to me across the dark waters. To see a possibility, very much yearned for, and to deprive myself of it. I was given an offer today that I had thought about often, daydreamed and hungered for. Ultimately I declined, my reasons being vague at the time, though my explanation was valid (somewhat). "I get uncomfortable when I can't pack up everything and leave in a day, and I wouldn't want to do that to you". I didn't think about whether I may have hurt her by saying that, though it wouldn't have changed my answer. Something deep inside whispered of danger and confinement should I have taken that road, great sorrows unimagined. Somehow it was deeply moving to be able to stare down my childish craving, and turn away, to be able to recognize that this path was not for me. People like me, people with a history but no story, don't move in with a woman that they have feelings for and end up happy. I've walked that way before, though the stakes were much lower and I much younger. One more test passed. I never wanted to admit this about myself, but now I suppose I can accept it without shame, without anger or judgement. I sometimes enjoy killing my dreams. Rather, killing things about myself that have no purpose but to cause distraction and delay, ideas and hopes that lead sideways rather than forward. Of all the skills taught to me by my Father, this has been the most valuable.

By no means am I trying to pawn this off as an idea of my own. But I haven't run into a literary version of Doctors Without Borders yet (if there is one, please tell me so I can join). Seems like a good concept to me though, probably one that could be put into practice relatively quickly too with a little support. After all, no matter the nature of the substance or what it's origins are, Medicine can't deny that there is more to humanity than just the body, more to health than just the absence of disease. If we can pull together to combat illiteracy and contagions in all corners of the globe, shouldn't self expression come along on the heels of that? We here on this site, mostly, come from the "developed" Western world. But I've also heard rumors and seen a few trails leading off into the non-English speaking corners of the web with the same basic beliefs as our own. I've got no clue if this is a viable idea or not right now, but I'd like to hear your thoughts on this. Please let me know what you think and toss around ideas, maybe float it on facebook or something, let's get a dialogue going hopefully. There are so many voices in this world, so much that could be said, so much that could be written, so much that could enrich all of our lives. It just seems to me that there ought to be something humanity could do to facilitate that sharing.

My Love, where have you gone? Where is the jewel that shone so brightly in your heart when we were young? I was away from you for years, campaigning across mountains and deserts, called by duty to my sardharan. Though never did I forsake you, nor our love. And now at last that I have come back, laden with the riches of far lands and strange peoples, enough to provide our family for ten lifetimes, you have grown cold. What happened in those years? Why won't you embrace me the way you once did, with such passion? It was that fire that drove me through war and death and sickness, those memories of our life before. Why does my own daughter fear me now? The day I returned you wept and she ran into the house as if from a ghost. When I embrace her now she cringes, as if expecting a whip. Our own Fatima, why should she be so afraid? I chased butterflies with her when she was but able to walk. Why should she now stiffen when I touch her? And where is your family? Mine were long dead when we were wed but yours loved and cherished our union, always some cousin or aunt was around to talk or invite us to dinner with them. Why won't you speak to me? I was nobody when I left for the war, but now I am returned, a deghan in the service of our lord, one of his trusted bodyguards, the commander of a hundred lancers and yet, my stallion Hafez was hamstrung in our field last night! They left him in misery for me to find this morning. My Love, what has happened to our home?