When There Are Too Many Things to Love
I cannot reconcile all that I love in this one life.
There are too many places I would sell my soul to get back to for just one hour of fading light and the ground beneath my feet.
The sizzle and clang of street food in Bangkok. The drowsy evening light and the slow shadow working its way up the face of Half Dome. Indian streets clogged with cartoon-ish yellow cars, and the heat from a billion bodies. A mass of humanity, each person a wonder, each street a cacophony of color and smells and movement and life.
There are too many things I love, there are too many people I would give my life for.
The first time I met my nephew; a new face in what felt, for a moment, like the entire world born anew. The man I met hiking in Nepal. We spoke no common language but that of smiles and gestures and the crinkling of eyes. We were together but a few moments, but I’ll never forget you.
A dark blue sky, the sun long gone. The impossibly pure silver of the stars framing the slim crescent moon, hanging there so lovely that for a moment I forget even myself. I am light and color and the motion of the sea. The improbable reality of existence.
Too many mountains, too many cities, too many translucent rivers sliding over stone and sand and moss.
My friends, my family, your faces flash through my soul continually. I want to live my whole life with each one of you.
And yet I cannot. I am but one man, made of spirit forged to body; able to exist in only one place.
There was the way the light shone though the trees, breaking out of the clouds, golden and bronze and fully lovely. And then it was gone.
What is this the fruit I've bitten off? What is this fire that burns in me, threatening to blacken everything I see? (Though fire too can bring life as well as death)
I'm strung-out over four continents. I went out looking for love and came back bursting with more than one person could ever live.
I am banished, ever-roving on the Earth, searching for that Kingdom that never ends.
Tasting, but never full. Touching, but never laying hold. A long drink in a land of sand and wind, but always a return to the desert. A kiss, but no consummation.