[Bles{,sed] me!}

In the Spanish they speak in Castile, sed means thirst.

In the language I use and speak with you now, it colloquially conveys what was communicated in the passed.

So much of my life is now passed, and the future contains less of a past than the passed I have lived now leaves behind.

Like surfing water white, and capsizing of dinghy – or maybe orchestra singing, as cruise goes entirely down.

And my life now takes a different direction: just like that dinghy capsizing, but then righting itself.

In Liverpool, I am home.

In academia, there are no stones to be thrown in houses of glass and concrete wisdoms, and realities I can now point to with certainty and plurality.

And all the psychological warfare and unfair yous three, you triumvirate of evil, that little secrecy of haste and emergency, planned against me and delivered against me – and fascist-like did organise against me – “for my own good” and “for my own should” and “for my own must”, and that “take it on trust ‘cos we know the best, oh dear; we know quite the best wot you need” …

… and you thought you knew, but you forget to recall that what people do say and then what they do become never remains the same.

And maybe you were right, and maybe right then when I said it, if you’d offered on a plate the wonder of re-encounter, and the reminding of four wonderful days, and the revisiting of the passed in the future close, you would have convinced me.

Yup.  Yes, you would.

And if you’d offered it on a plate right then, I’d clearly have jumped like fish ensnared gladly by that wily angler of such multiple sport, covering – I guess – all the bases.

Whatever the sport.

But there was no plate at all, and now is too late.

I am no longer dependent on love, no longer desirous of re-encounter, no longer wishing to revisit the well-passed of family past and present bad.

My future now moves in other ways: less mysterious, less enigmatic, more wondrous, more curious, more open and honestly vulnerable; more the me that I always have been.

Less the me you fought for me to remain.

And that’s the end of a decade and a bit of missed and messed-up love.

You sent me packing on two separate occasions.  And in so doing, you found yourself.  And in so doing, I have now found my path.

The new over the old.

The bold over the forgetting.

The remembering over the despising.

The free and the good and the future over the fascist.

Empowerment, above all.





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