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The title of this post is, more accurately, "Things Rediscovered After You Forgot that You'd Lost Them at All."
I know it sounds crazy, but these two pages changed me completely. The narrator was talking specifically about Death, walking at the end of a funeral procession. Neil Gaiman's words, combined with the image of Death that Gary Amaro drew, spoke to my soul. As surely as I am sitting here typing this post, I know that those words were written for me in particular.
Some of my friends say there is no such thing as coincidence. Normally, I disagree with this, because coincidence implies a lack of a plan, and a lack of a plan means that fate and destiny are just false concepts. Thus, my decisions are my own, and I am not bound to any particular path while living this life. It's a simple and elegant little farce I tell myself.
However, as I sit here, I find it almost impossible to believe that those words and images were meant for anyone BUT me. Every single word resounds within my soul with a clarity and honesty that causes my very soul to hum in harmony. Seeing the images that go with the words reinforces that feeling. Seeing Death that truly sad, and being unable to ease her suffering, causes my own heart to nearly break to the point of no return.
Part of my mind tells me that I'm just a little on the crazy side. It says, "there's some clinical explanation for why you're such a mess over a character created for a comic book." Of course there probably is some clinical explanation, I now think, because Man as a species is ill-prepared and ill-equipped to entertain -- for even a moment -- that the world is more than he thinks it is, or that what he experiences within his own mind are in any way real.
Yet, I realize several things, having reread "Worlds' End"* these past two nights. One, I began reading this around the same time I got into computers, so this love affair of mine is almost 20 years old, but that's anecdotal. Two, this story would have had its final issue in November 1993, thanks to the direct market. Three, that if I read this in 1993, that the poem I wrote about Death being my bride had to have happened very soon after I read this (within 4 months**). Four, my melancholia about the holidays always starts in November. That could also be anecdotal. Fifth, my feelings toward death (as a life act) are not nearly as dire as most people, as if I've come to terms with it in a very personal way.
Finally, the sixth thing I realize is that the first time I spent any time with my dream girl was shortly after Kevin began dating Brandi in early 1994, because it was Death who was my double date on that mysterious car trip to the lodge that I can, even now, only describe in unsatisfying terms, almost as if I remember exactly what I saw, until I try to tell another.
For the last 18 years, I've had a love affair with a girl who I've only seen in my dreams. She is everything that I want, everything that I desire, everything that lifts me up. With her, I am more than I allow myself to be during the day. With her, I can accomplish anything. With her, also, I am myself, unfiltered, uninhibited, unchained. Is it any wonder why I cannot find a girl in the waking world to match what I've found in my dreams? What, also, does it say about me, that Death's brother is Dream? After all, that is where I find her.
Parts of my mind begin to echo the same thoughts I listed earlier, but I think I've finally reached the point that it can't affect me anymore. It's not that I don't care, but rather that I have begun to understand that those thoughts (or even other people's opinions) aren't important in the grade scheme of things.
In a way, I have to be grateful to Jessica for helping me indirectly realize this. Until 2010, I was convinced that I had to find my love in the waking world. I was sure that there was someone for me, somewhere. So, I'd try and pine and hope and fail and cry. Jessica gave me a good deal more than I'd found up to that point. Things ultimately end for those of us in the material world, and my relationship with her was no different. However, I managed to learn that what I really wanted was something I'd found within, all those years ago.
I've had crushes since, and I cannot explain why they still ring with me. Could it be that parts of them speak to my dream self, and identify themselves as having elements of that one perfect dream girl I've known all these years? Could it be that my soul recognizes in them those parts that match that dream girl, and my soul yearns for that connection more than life itself? I find many women attractive, but the list of those who I am truly interested in is short, indeed.
Today, while I acknowledge that I'd be lying that I don't want some kind of relationship with a woman in the material world, I no longer crave it past the point of reason. However, I must also acknowledge that I hold every woman I meet up next to this dream girl. Thus, the sad reality is that my expectations and desires are irrationally high.
...For who could outshine a dream?
* - "Worlds' End", first published in Sandman #51-56, July to December 1993
** - I ultimately first quit school in April 1994, so my memory of letting a classmate read the poem would have had to come between November 1993 and April 1994.
The title of this post is, more accurately, "Things Rediscovered After You Forgot that You'd Lost Them at All."
"The other one...
The one at the end...
I think I fell in love with her, a little bit. Isn't that dumb?
But it was like I knew her.
Like she was my closest, dearest friend.
The kind of person you can tell anything to, no matter
how bad, and they'll still love you, because they know you.
I wanted to go with her. I wanted her to notice me.
And then she stopped walking.
Under the moon, she stopped, and she looked at us.
She looked at me.
Maybe she was trying to tell me something; I don't know.
She probably didn't even know I was there.
But I'll always love her. All my life."-- Sandman #56 (World's End, Part 6), pp. 18-19
I know it sounds crazy, but these two pages changed me completely. The narrator was talking specifically about Death, walking at the end of a funeral procession. Neil Gaiman's words, combined with the image of Death that Gary Amaro drew, spoke to my soul. As surely as I am sitting here typing this post, I know that those words were written for me in particular.
Some of my friends say there is no such thing as coincidence. Normally, I disagree with this, because coincidence implies a lack of a plan, and a lack of a plan means that fate and destiny are just false concepts. Thus, my decisions are my own, and I am not bound to any particular path while living this life. It's a simple and elegant little farce I tell myself.
However, as I sit here, I find it almost impossible to believe that those words and images were meant for anyone BUT me. Every single word resounds within my soul with a clarity and honesty that causes my very soul to hum in harmony. Seeing the images that go with the words reinforces that feeling. Seeing Death that truly sad, and being unable to ease her suffering, causes my own heart to nearly break to the point of no return.
Part of my mind tells me that I'm just a little on the crazy side. It says, "there's some clinical explanation for why you're such a mess over a character created for a comic book." Of course there probably is some clinical explanation, I now think, because Man as a species is ill-prepared and ill-equipped to entertain -- for even a moment -- that the world is more than he thinks it is, or that what he experiences within his own mind are in any way real.
Yet, I realize several things, having reread "Worlds' End"* these past two nights. One, I began reading this around the same time I got into computers, so this love affair of mine is almost 20 years old, but that's anecdotal. Two, this story would have had its final issue in November 1993, thanks to the direct market. Three, that if I read this in 1993, that the poem I wrote about Death being my bride had to have happened very soon after I read this (within 4 months**). Four, my melancholia about the holidays always starts in November. That could also be anecdotal. Fifth, my feelings toward death (as a life act) are not nearly as dire as most people, as if I've come to terms with it in a very personal way.
Finally, the sixth thing I realize is that the first time I spent any time with my dream girl was shortly after Kevin began dating Brandi in early 1994, because it was Death who was my double date on that mysterious car trip to the lodge that I can, even now, only describe in unsatisfying terms, almost as if I remember exactly what I saw, until I try to tell another.
For the last 18 years, I've had a love affair with a girl who I've only seen in my dreams. She is everything that I want, everything that I desire, everything that lifts me up. With her, I am more than I allow myself to be during the day. With her, I can accomplish anything. With her, also, I am myself, unfiltered, uninhibited, unchained. Is it any wonder why I cannot find a girl in the waking world to match what I've found in my dreams? What, also, does it say about me, that Death's brother is Dream? After all, that is where I find her.
Parts of my mind begin to echo the same thoughts I listed earlier, but I think I've finally reached the point that it can't affect me anymore. It's not that I don't care, but rather that I have begun to understand that those thoughts (or even other people's opinions) aren't important in the grade scheme of things.
In a way, I have to be grateful to Jessica for helping me indirectly realize this. Until 2010, I was convinced that I had to find my love in the waking world. I was sure that there was someone for me, somewhere. So, I'd try and pine and hope and fail and cry. Jessica gave me a good deal more than I'd found up to that point. Things ultimately end for those of us in the material world, and my relationship with her was no different. However, I managed to learn that what I really wanted was something I'd found within, all those years ago.
I've had crushes since, and I cannot explain why they still ring with me. Could it be that parts of them speak to my dream self, and identify themselves as having elements of that one perfect dream girl I've known all these years? Could it be that my soul recognizes in them those parts that match that dream girl, and my soul yearns for that connection more than life itself? I find many women attractive, but the list of those who I am truly interested in is short, indeed.
Today, while I acknowledge that I'd be lying that I don't want some kind of relationship with a woman in the material world, I no longer crave it past the point of reason. However, I must also acknowledge that I hold every woman I meet up next to this dream girl. Thus, the sad reality is that my expectations and desires are irrationally high.
...For who could outshine a dream?
* - "Worlds' End", first published in Sandman #51-56, July to December 1993
** - I ultimately first quit school in April 1994, so my memory of letting a classmate read the poem would have had to come between November 1993 and April 1994.
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