Hidden Enough ~water phase~ phase 2

…far too hidden…

…for too long…

(a [tentative, pensive, flirtive and perhaps a bit trepidatious] return to this place, this piece, from the very earliest days of this blogging venture, this prayer like gravity)

(not entirely sure where these words have come from, but I am trying to pay attention to where they are going…)


…and from these chambers come words…

“Consummate the language.”

“Dream. Dream.”

“Ah, there you are. We have not seen you here, this deep, in quite some time.”

“I have been on the surface or near the surface but I have kept sight of you. I have never gone where I could not see you at all.”

“We have seen you and known that you were near but we have not seen you here, this deep, this close to the depths. Are you afraid? Were you afraid? Of the depths? Of coming this deep? Afraid of what you would find here? Of what these findings might do if you took them up to the surface and into the light?”

“No. I am not afraid, though I think that perhaps he may be or may have been. I tried to bring him down with me, but he would not come or was not able to come.”

“You should know that we will not hurt you or him. Though I suppose that what you might take up there could be seen as a danger to some and the surfacing could destroy what you take up. The air and the light are often not kind to these things. Down here they withstand crushing pressures and yet, up there they become as delicate and fragile as veins in a leaf of coral and wilt pale in the harsh light and heat of the sun.”

“I know. He knows. But he is caught up, up there in the air, caught up in those thoughts and those things and those places in the light and the day. He is in a place where he cannot see down here at all, where he questions even the existence of these depths at times and questions the time that it would take to find them or the way down to them and whether the work is worth the effort and whether he is worthy.”

“He will return. They always return. In the end if not sooner. They are creatures of habit. Their power is in their black return.”

“While I am still, as ever, slow walking and returning as all ways lead to other ways, unfluttered.”