we have to

find our voice

you wanna know how deeply my soul goes? deeper than bones, deeper than bones.

the flight

dear aunt sarah,

the best word to describe the flight to midland was "long." i was caught in the middle seat for the three hour (plus) flight without any way out. you're probably familiar with how it feels: there's nowhere to escape, nothing to do - you've read the in-flight magazine three separate times, each time inventing a new game to play with each turn of the page. all i could think about was how i left you back in tulsa, free as a bird, and how you were probably busy baking some cookies or enjoying a walk outside or something like that.

the whole flight i was just wishing i didn't have to make this trip to midland and how i couldn't wait to get back and hang out. when the stewardess came by with the trash, i saved my napkin to write down some thoughts about our conversation from earlier, but i didn't have pen or a pencil. it made me think of how many pencils you have stashed in different spots around the house so that if you ever need one, you have one. you must have close to three hundred pencils all together.

you pointed out some things, in that conversation, that really got me thinking: it's funny how a person can be standing in the middle of a world full of life in every form and still feel alone. it doesn't quite make sense to me and yet i think i can relate. it's almost as though a person can walk with a dozen people, but if she doesn't feel connected to any of them, she still feels starkly alone. it seems like what we all crave is some level of connectedness to some other. and this pang for companionship comes from some deep fear of being alone. it's as though being alone is the worst possible evil that could ever ultimately come upon a person. we want desperately to be confident that we're not alone (and that we won't be left that way when the curtain comes down) and this seems silly. the fact is that we are both alone and not alone at the same time. i think that until i come to peace with that fact, i'll always fear being alone, even though part of me knows there's nothing to fear at all.

my pencil has run out of lead for now, and plus, cousin skip is calling for dinner. I don't know when i'll return to see you, but i very much hope it is sooner than later. i really enjoy our time together. enjoy yourself over there and say hello to the birds for me.

sincerely,

jacob

fantasy

i often fantasize that i'll write something that people will read 50 years after i die

i have a dream where i'm laying curled up on the blank floor in a barren room with one big window (or was it no window at all?) crying out loud in admission "i'm terrified of being all alone," then someone opens a door and i dry up my eyes and walk out into a crowded space full of unfamiliar faces. and i feel alone.

i dream that one day i'll be fully healthy and happy. but sometimes i wonder if health isn't more of a process for me than it is state of being. then again maybe there's less of a difference than i think.

who am i? really. is it my dreams and fantasies that define who i am? is it my traits and behaviors? is it my name? is it my ancestry? does who i am have anything to do with who i have the potential to be?

i am dark and i am light. i am good and i am bad. i am black and i am white. i am happy and i am sad.