an essay from forever. and from the 9 days I was in Singapore…
Dear Singapore,
I walk the streets, past the colonial facades and the Indian concierges with the turbans and dressed in white uniforms and the touches of Morocco and Christianity and Islam and India on all sides.
Interesting architecture, shades of cultures past, rises around me.
And I hear the the mixed British-Chinese accents as the people speak Singapore-English.
And I meet them.
And her.
Beautiful and colorful and chaotic woman, spiraling into my days.
Tipsy Flamingos and pink-bright carriages and all-around Halloween death-decor — carry us into random adventure and we sing songs of old. And listen to songs of new.
Then.
Relient K in my headphones, sweat on my brow, I head into the air-conditioned mall to browse. And think.
I return to my hotel room and spend the day drinking plenty of iced-coffee and water and reading William Blake and Hemingway and Merton and writing, writing, always writing.
‘What the hammer? What the anvil?’ — these words of Blake ring in my soul. Bringing life to places I didn’t know.
Secrets within secrets and dreams from long ago.
Imaginary realms that are more real than my most-imagined foe.
Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience. Words so simple and thoughts so decadent.
As Merton travels through Rome in luscious prose. To find his God of great repose.
And I lay here quietly.
On the soft white bed.
Passion, in my passion, finding my passion.
Unraveled and sometimes lost and sometimes alone. I can see more clearly now.
And when finally I can see wonderfully, I can come home.
Free.
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